Last night, my manager pulled me aside after I got seated an eight-top which he's fawning over. As it turns out, this group was apprehensive about eating at the restaurant because of the reviews (which are pretty bad), but he talked them into giving us a chance. Then put them in my section, and told me I needed to be on my A-game and give them the best service. No pressure.

They're here for a birthday party for three of the girls at the table, and they seem pretty laid back. Get them going with drinks and ring in appetizers which hit the table while I'm taking their food orders. Make sure everyone's settled, and head back to the kitchen to ring in the order, and talk to one of the kitchen supervisors, inform him that our manager is being our manager (which means he's being a hot mess), and to please make sure everything gets cooked properly.

Spend my time refilling drinks, making small talk, and trying to help another table decide what they want for dessert (one of the people had an egg allergy and didn't want the one egg-free dessert we have. Felt super bad watching her drinking her soda while the rest of her family is digging into a giant mountain of brownie and ice cream.)

Food hits the table, and gets there at the right temperature, still hot, and nothing missing. In this moment, I decide I might just have to give my heart to Jesus, because only divine intervention makes an order of moderate complexity on a holiday weekend hit the table without issue, in this place.

Overall, everything actually went perfectly, didn't forget anyone's refills, and on two split checks, got 20% tips on both of them.