Signs, Signs...

In the restaurant business, good servers learn to "read" their tables; they manage to anticipate a customer's needs without needlessly interrupting their dining experience. The key to providing just the right amount of service-- without appearing overly attentive or neglectful-- is to pick up on the non-verbal cues. And during the course of a meal, a typical diner provides dozens of clues.

If I approach a new table and see that the menus that the host passed out are stacked at the end of the table, I know they're ready to order right away. But if their noses are still stuck in the menu when I return to drop off their drinks, I know not to push for a food order. An empty glass is one of the easiest clues to spot; there's really no excuse notto keep the glasses full or the beer flowing.

A patron who is on the edge of their chair and/or leaning forward is deep in conversation and doesn't want to be disturbed; a patron who is leaning back and/or pushed their chair away from the table is full. If a half-eaten meal is neatly organized or compartmentalized on the plate, I'll show up with a to-go box, while a wadded up napkin on the plate is the universal white flag of surrender, signaling that-- despite the diner's most valiant efforts-- the behemoth-sized portions won out in the end. I will always offer to bus these plates, regardless of how much food may be left underneath the crumpled napkin.

When I drop the check, I'll stand the booklet up on the table; when I see that the book is lying down, I know that my guests are likely ready to cash out. Some savvy guests go the extra mile and leave a portion of their cash or credit card visibly poking out of the closed book, which saves me from having to use my powers of x-ray vision (which comes standard issue... along with the apron and the thick skin.)

It's common knowledge among restaurant workers that some tables are needier than others. With a little practice, good servers can determine whether a table expects them to: hang out and make small talk, remain silent but visible, or-- once the food is served-- to stay away until someone at the table calls them over. By the time I take their orders, I almost always know how high maintenance or low key a table will be, and I will prioritize my tasks accordingly.

That being said, I do have a shameful confession to make: However good a server may be at reading people's body language, they have yet to master the art of reading people's minds. So the next time you're hoping to have a quick dinner before a 7:00 show or spend a leisurely evening catching up with an old friend, or if you have a severe aversion to red onions or soup spoons, consider biting the bullet and talking to the hired help. For a successful server, the only thing better than anticipating a customer's needs is knowing what the customer needs. Most are quite accomodating of special requests, as long as they know what those needs are.

*Please disregard the grammatical error in the sign pictured above*

What Say Ye Now, Groundhog?

Here in Chicago, outlandish weather forecasts are not at all uncommon among the local news stations. In fact, a rush-hour flurry or a sudden downpour is usually all it takes for meteorologists to cut in to the evening's top stories with "breaking news" of the (usually obvious) precipitation affecting portions of the viewing area, and to dispatch rookie reporters to the lake front and expressway overpasses to confirm that-- "live, from outside"-- the white stuff that's hitting my window is, in fact, snow.

So when forecasters began making their catastrophic storm predictions last week, I tuned in to Chicago's Very Own, WGN, to see what my buddy Tom Skilling had to say. He is by far the most level-headed, non-alarmist meteorologist in the tri-state area, so as soon as I heard him calmly describe the impending blizzard as a "storm of historic proportions", I took notice. And as it turns out, he was right on the money.

In this (delightfully snarky for NPR) article posted yesterday, an Atlanta meteorologist said (in response to the "monstrous monikers" that have been attached to the megastorms of recent winters):"Just in passing, I've overheard conversations about the intensity and danger of impending storms. People refer to the storm systems by their TV names, which lets me know that being creative gets people's attention."

But since terms such as "Snowmageddon" and "Snowpocalypse" are so East Coast 2010, I'd like to present to you a medley of the Chicago versions, coined specifically for the Blizzard of 2011. Here goes!

Snowly cow! Snowtorious B.I.G. himself has descended upon the Windy City. We've learned that Mother Nature's first name is, in fact, Snowprah, and that no one was excluded from her first "Favorite Things" episode of February. In a shrieking voice, loud enough to be heard over the howling winds, she has declared that, "you get a blizzard... and "you get a blizzard... everyone gets a BLIZZZZARRRRD!" Only this time, it's not just a room full of hysterical middle-aged women in brightly colored tops who are squealing "SNOW-M-G!"; school children everywhere are overcome with joy to learn that, what started as a snowrnado last night has closed even the Chicago Public schools today. And since this blizzaster has all but crippled transportation in the city, tomorrow's not looking good, either.

It warms my heart (but not my hands) to know that residents are banding together in the wake of this snowtastrophy; in this magical time-- after the snowfall has ended but before the lawn chairs appear (to claim "dibs" on their owners' dug-out parking spaces)-- neighbors are helping neighbors clear drifts from their front doors, shovel narrow pathways for brave commuters and dog walkers, and they're also responding to all-too-literal questions of, "Dude! Where's my car?!?"

On my quiet little side street (that probably won't see a snow plow or a back hoe until sometime this weekend), the only modes of transportation I saw in the two hours I was out unearthing my car were el trains, skis, and snowshoes. Plenty of people ventured out of their homes to marvel at the mess, though, snapping pictures like tourists while trying not to lose their dogs or kids in the waist-high drifts.

I know that 48 hours from now, we'll likely be back to business as usual, cursing the city's never-fast-enough response to snow removal, screaming "oh SNOW you didn't!" at drivers who cut us off or park in a way that is considered stupid-- even for blizzard standards-- but for today, I'm going to do my best to enjoy Blizzardpalooza 2011.

And as for the groundhog... I saw Punxsutawney Phil on the news, smugly predicting an early spring for those out east. Closer to home, our resident rodent in Woodstock, Illinois, wouldn't even come out. Groundhog's day was cancelled. What's that supposed to mean? My guess is that it doesn't bode well for any of us Chicagoans... well, except for maybe the meteorologists.