In the beginning, there was the customer. And around them, an entire universe was built — of polite bows, perfunctory smiles, suggestive nods, and oily professionalism. Because everyone knows: the customer is always right. Even when they’re not. In fact, especially when they’re not. And that’s precisely where the true mettle of hospitality professionals is tested: when you manage not to twitch an eye as the customer claims the wine is corked just to show off; when you smile as they order a “seafood risotto” and then complain because there are no mushrooms in it. And if a mistake happens to be theirs, the customer, well — it doesn’t matter. They’ll still find someone to blame. Usually the waiter or the chef.
The truth is, this phrase needs some editing: the customer is always right… when it comes to taste. If they like their wine with ice, their dessert with braised meat, or cheese on a seafood pasta, it’s not our job to re-educate them. You simply go along with it. They’re not here to be corrected, nor to be judged. But if they demand pizza in a restaurant that doesn’t serve it, or want to swap out half the ingredients of a dish because they “don’t like green things,” then no. Service is flexible, but it’s not a three-ring circus.
In recent years—thanks to globalized behavior and the influence of a certain American-style approach—we’ve seen the rise of the provocateur customer. The kind who walks in not to eat, but to test the system, as if they were in a reality show. They arrive with off-menu demands, modifications to dishes carefully crafted by the chef, and expect the kitchen to adapt to their daily mood or improvised nutritional theories. They don’t order, they negotiate. And heaven forbid you tell them something can’t be done: they’ll take offense, stiffen up, feel like a victim. Sometimes, with a mocking smile, they’ll spring the trap: “I know it’s not on the menu, but you can make an exception, right? Come on, it can’t be that hard…” — as if they were there to teach you your own job.
Then there’s the frustrated customer—the one who sees themselves as a victim of their boss’s abuse or of the world in general, and feels the need to take it out on someone else. And that someone becomes the waiter, who gets treated like a medieval serf. God forbid you contradict them, or try to rush them, even if closing time passed ages ago, and paid overtime is a fantasy for the staff. Cue the classic: “Yeah, I know it’s late but there’s three of us — don’t worry, we’ll be quick…” The list could go on forever, and every waiter and chef has their own anecdotes to tell—the kind you laugh at just to avoid crying… or slapping the first customer who dares ask for a well-done filet or shows up two minutes before closing.
To make matters worse, there’s the management—those who learned everything from a PowerPoint slide or the latest fluff-guru and have never worked a shift on the floor. They repeat the mantra “the customer is always right” with the same conviction as recommending lemon on fish: out of habit. And they’re the worst. Not just because they’ve never taken an order under pressure or handled a tough table without the maître backing them up, but because—if they ever sit down to eat in their own restaurant—they immediately become the worst customers: arrogant, demanding, impatient. Then they go back to their office and teach you how to build empathy with the guest. With what courage, no one knows. Or rather — we do know, but we don’t say it, otherwise HR will fire off a warning letter before you can blink.
In reality, the customer has simply gotten used to always being right, even though most of the time they don’t even know what they want. They’re confused, anxious, bombarded with reviews, food bloggers, reels, “immersive experiences” and storytelling packaged by uninspired copywriters. In all this chaos, the truth is—they’re just looking for someone to rely on. They want guidance. And that’s where the craft should come in: our craft. Not blind appeasement at all costs, but the ability to listen, interpret, advise — and sometimes say no with grace and firmness. Because service is not servitude. It’s a relationship.
But to do that, two things are needed: professional self-respect and social recognition. The first comes with experience. The second should come from those who hire us, train us, and represent us (even in the media). Because as long as we keep describing front-of-house work as something you can improvise, a “temporary gig,” a stopover between university and your real job, we’ll keep creating customers who don’t respect us — simply because no one ever taught them to. Not at home, not at school, and certainly not at the restaurant.