I read something by the Underclassy about all of the things waiters and waitresses don’t tell you. One of the points he made is when customers assume you’ve tried everything on the menu, which gets a little old when you’ve waitressed for however many years.
“How is the salmon here? Is it good?” To be honest, I don’t like salmon. But I will lie to you and tell you how awesome it is.
“What is the strawberry margarita like?” It’s a strawberry flavored margarita. I’m sure it takes just like any other damn margarita you’ve had in your lifetime.
When you are asked these questions, you are then forced to get fancy with your descriptions. I will never forget the time someone asked me, “What’s in the bacon cheesy fries?”
How do you get out of a question like that? No matter what you say, and how you say it, you sound like a condescending asshole who is lowering your IQ standards to meet theirs. There are so many things we want to say to you, but we hold back entirely. So, my suggestion would be to milk it the best you can. If I could go back in time, I’d like to answer their question by saying something like:
Well…we take a sack of potatoes, chop them up, lather them in this garlic truffle butter. Toss them around the frying pan, season them, add a dash of holy water, and then place them in the deep fryer to get nice and crispy. Then, we take a block of Wisconsin cheese. This isn’t your average Wisconsin cheese. This was found in the back woods of the great Green Bay Packers land found by the beefy Clay Matthews while wearing a red flannel, mountain boots, and his hair up high in a man bun. He found a land of abandoned aged cheese. The cheese was then shipped to us and mixed in with this European cheese that was once kissed by Grace of Monaco. Her kiss sent the cheese to a type of nirvana, which is why it’s still so good to eat.
Then, there was once a pig. He was The pig. The pig of the pen. He looked after all of the other pigs in the pen, took them in, and cared for them. He was an entrepreneur, philanthropist, and donator to the Make A Wish Foundation. And then one day, he decided to sacrifice himself. Just like Jesus. He was like the Jesus pig. He brought himself to the farmer and yelled, “Take me!” The farmer picked up the fat pig, chopped him up into pieces, and that my friend, is what you have drizzled across your beloved cheesy fries. Jesus pig.
And once you are finished with this fictional story you have just sprung before them, you are then awarded no tip. Which is precisely why we say nothing.