Ercassesanwi - July 26th, 2006
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05:12 pm
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Waiterphobia and Other Phenomena of the Meek
I have suffered from waiterphobia (further explanation below) since about the age of fourteen. I probably had the tendency even earlier, but it went unnoticed because of my childhood habit of ordering the same meal at each of the three restaurants my family habitually visited. My sisters and good friends laugh at me about it, while newer acquaintances react somewhere along the range of mystified to horrified.
It's tough to be meek.
A typical episode of waiterphobia will happen thus: I sit down at a restaurant with a group of friends. I pick up the menu, but one of the group wants to engage me in conversation. I dutifully participate in small talk, knowing in the back of my mind that I should be making my menu selection.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, the waiter materializes with a crash of thunder and wants to take our orders. I panic. Even if I am the last one he questions, I will not have enough time to choose. Before my mind's eye flash the impatient, hungry faces of his numerous other charges, all of whom are waiting on their food because of me and my slowness. I see the chefs sighing in frustration as food cools and becomes stale because I am delaying the waiter. Then comes the terrible moment when the waiter turns his eyes on me and, in his person, I see the entire restaurant staff focused on me, waiting for my selection.
There have been occasions, I'm ashamed to say, when I've been rendered speechless by the pressure and have had to be rescued by a friend. What usually happens is that I look down at the menu and order the first thing that I see, regardless of what it is and whether or not I like it.
To avoid such an occurrence, I have developed a restaurant ritual. Immediately upon being seated with a menu, I open it and begin the selection process, avoiding most of the initial conversation. When I've chosen, I repeat my order about three times over in my head as practice for when the waiter comes. This tactic usually works to fend off the worst of waiterphobia, but other circumstances can still trigger the phenomenon to varying degrees. For example, the waiter may throw off my system by asking an unexpected question, such as "What soup would you like with that?" Or it may happen that the restaurant is out of the dish I order. Then I'm back to Square 1.
Another variable to waiterphobia is how early in the visit I "make a mistake" and thereby trigger the problem. If I make it through the ordering and receiving food without mishap, it's very likely I'll be brave enough to ask for more time to think about ordering dessert. If, however, I mess up during the ordering or before, I'll be afraid of the waiter for the rest of the meal. I once triggered waiterphobia before even being seated, because I mistook the restaurant to be one where the customer approaches the counter, orders, and seats himself. Once I realized my mistake, the meal was doomed.
I think waiterphobia may fall under the broader category of what I call little-sister syndrome, so named because I attribute it, correctly or not, to my experience as third of four sisters. Little-sister syndrome is basically my fear of bothering people. I have before said that hell on earth for me would be knowing that I have intentionally annoyed someone. Doing so unintentionally is second worst. Little-sister syndrome often shows itself in my reluctance to select a social activity for a group. "What would you like to do, Holly?" "Oh, I don't know. Why don't you pick?" My friend ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) michiru223 once tried to force me to choose for the group, saying, "No, Holly. We want you to pick." She thought she was doing me a favor, that I would like at last to be able to select what to do. Instead, I was frightened by the responsibility. What if the rest of the group didn't like what I would pick? I tried to explain to her (and I think I failed) that I actually get more enjoyment from knowing the rest of the group is pleased than I would get from choosing an activity that I like. My best friend Marjorie has learned that to get me comfortably to choose, she must give me options. If she asks, "Where do you want to go eat?" I may very well freeze up. But if she asks, "Would you like Mexican or Italian?" I then have choices both of which I can assume are acceptable to her and won't annoy her.
I can think of only two others who may understand or even share in waiterphobia, and they are brukwurm and lauralyrics. I fully expect the rest of the world to shake their heads in bewilderment. And that expected misunderstanding, more than even the fear of waiters, is what makes it so tough to be meek.
Current Music: Harry Connick Jr.
Tags: waiterphobia
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