When I got a job at a swanky fine dining restaurant as a waitress, I was thrilled. Though I only had experience serving at diners and nightclubs and knew nothing about fine dining, I figured they would teach me. During the interview, the manager only asked if I had restaurant experience then hired me. In no way did I indicate that I had fine dining experience. On my first day, there was a meeting before the first shift started to try some of the foods. I had to memorize everything I tried on the spot and what it tasted like. This was exotic food that I had never had before. Then we had to detail the tables, setting out the forks, knives, plates, etc. We had to make sure all 30 tables in the dining room and all of the utensils, plates and glasses were perfectly aligned on the tables. Then came the serving. I witnessed the waiter giving detailed descriptions of all of the exotic foods that he brought out. I was nervous, but figured I would receive adequate training and time to memorize everything.

They also had an extensive wine list, but I had no wine knowledge at all and did not know how to properly serve a bottle of wine. I trained for three days and stressfully memorized as many menu items as I could, at home and at work. During those three days I ended up working a lot taking orders, refilling water, clearing plates and running drinks. Then I found out I would need to take a test on the food before I could officially work there. I started studying my butt off and preparing. On the fourth day of work I showed up and started detailing the tables. The manager, who made me extremely nervous because of his constant testing (he would say, “Quick, tell me that table number and position” and if I answered wrong would shake his head or yell at me) started asking me where I had worked before. I told him a diner and a nightclub and he finally realized I had no fine dining experience. When I finished detailing the tables, he asked me to serve wine to another waitress (who was pretty snobby) as practice. I tried, but was fumbling and struggling with opening the bottle. I had no idea how to read the wine and year off of the bottle (they had never showed me), but did my best.

The manager just shook his head. “That was atrocious,” he said in front of the other waitress. He continued to belittle me in front of the other waitress, including telling me how I held the wine was even wrong. I started crying and ran to the bathroom to get myself together, then came back out. “So what do you want me to do? The customers here expect the wine to be served correctly. You do not know how to do that,” he said. I finally couldn’t take anymore and told him I would leave. I got my things and ran out of there. The best part? I didn’t get paid a penny for those three days of hard work and humiliation.