The Waiter Without a Notepad

How confident would you be to take a table's orders without a notepad to write things down? • Photo by Jessie McCall on Unsplash

Eight of my friends and I went out to dinner at a fancy new restaurant. We were greeted warmly and quickly seated.

Our waiter arrived and introduced himself with a smile. 

“Can I start you off with something to drink?” 

The first of us placed an order for an iced tea with extra ice. Our waiter nodded at him and looked to the next of us. 

Friend #2 ordered her drink. I made eye contact with a few of the others and I knew we were thinking the same thing - he’s not writing any of this down. 

The waiter went around the table taking our drink orders in record time, without recording a single thing. I felt like I was watching a magician perform. 

“I’ll be right back with those for you.”

And he wasn’t lying! He came right back, with a tray and all nine beverages, including the extra ice in the iced tea. We were impressed. 

“Are you ready to order some food?” he invited us. 

My buddy nudged me, “he’s gonna do it again!”

Around the table we went, sharing our dinner orders with this confident man of service. And to each of us in turn he nodded knowingly, radiating self-belief. It was intoxicating. 

There was a palpable sense of anticipation at the table. It really felt like we were watching a performance. It was fun. 

When the meals arrived it was a grand presentation: multiple staff delivering steaming plates all at once. 

The spectacle was short-lived. 

My friend across the table quickly recognized the sesame seeds on the bun. “Excuse me, I’m allergic.”

“Ah, I’m so sorry about that,” our waiter frowned. 

The energy at the table shifted. The impressive memory trick suddenly carried higher stakes than we wanted to imagine. An allergic reaction could have sent him to the hospital.

Another friend called out: “This is the wrong salad.”

The waiter jogged over, trying to recover. “Oh yes, that’s right, you didn’t order the caesar, you ordered the…” His eyes darted, searching his memory. Panic set in. He had no notes to lean on.

“I ordered the garden salad with extra chicken,” my friend reminded him.

The confidence that had dazzled us earlier was now dripping away with sweat.

It was hard not to feel bad for him. He was clearly very embarrassed by his foibles. But then again he chose not to write anything down. 

It didn’t ruin the night for us, of course. The orders got corrected and everyone enjoyed their food. But the experience has stuck with me. I mean, it’s a good thing my sesame-allergic friend caught the sesame-seeded bun - the mistake could have been catastrophic. 

Our waiter friend had developed a special talent for memorizing orders, and because he’d always done it he assumed he’d always be able to do it. He’d gotten so good at it that he doesn’t even carry a “just in case” notepad in his pocket anymore. 

But we all make mistakes. And sometimes our egos blind us to the fact that we’re capable of making them. 

Confidence is a wonderful thing that lets us take risks and step outside of our comfort zones. But too much of it and we become (more) blind to our blindspots. 

Had the waiter pulled off the feat we might have applauded, that’s how much we enjoyed the act. But when he got it wrong and we realized how severe it could have been, we wondered if the risk was worth the charm. 

We all have areas in our lives where we act like overconfident waiters. If you’ve ever experienced success, held a position of power, or done the same task over and over again, you’re prone to it too. 

My experience with the waiter reminded me to stay alert and build in doubts, checks, and balances to my work. To carry a notebook, for instance. To ask for feedback. To actively seek out different perspectives. These small safeguards keep me from missing possibilities, help me avoid costly mistakes, and open the door to opportunities that could change everything.

Confidence might win applause, but questions keep us tuned into possibilities.