In the service industry, behind closed doors, it is always stressed that it is not a democracy, but a dictatorship. It is not a forum for you to raise your suggestions or complaints,” says *Sthe Ngcobo as he manoeuvres his three-series Beemer into Yeoville’s congested Raleigh Street, en route to the down market, but appropriately homely, Ekhaya Restaurant. ‘You’re always told that there are a thousand other people who could be trained off the street. You’re just a number. There is no respect [for waiters] in this industry. It’s not unusual to be fired in a day, because a manager doesn’t like the way you look, sound or stand. You’ll be politely told: ‘You don’t fit in.’”
Ngcobo is somewhat of a career waiter, or is that a careerist? Single and almost 28, he smooth-talked his way up the industry’s ranks, starting from low-budget seafood joints to upmarket steakhouses, charming the right patrons all the way to a healthy five-figure salary as a stockbroker. And although he probably doesn’t need to, on some weekends, he still serves drinks at the Palms in Sandton to ‘remain liquid”. The difference between bar tending and working the restaurant floor, he adds, is that ‘in a club, you can tell a patron to fuck off and still keep your job”.
Waiters, depending on where they work, can earn more than graduates, he says. ‘When I worked at The Grillhouse [at The Firs in Rosebank], I was pulling in about R12 000 to R14 000 a month. The reason you wouldn’t tell is that most waiters are humble enough to use their tips to put their brothers and sisters through school.”
When the conversation turns to hygiene, he adds that service ‘depends a lot on how a guest treats a waitron”.
On the other hand, one hears of franchises that pay their staff as little as R1 500 a month. Tips are pooled and are paid on Fridays. A 26-year-old man who works for a well-known coffee chain in Rosebank said his weekly tips never top R200 and that most waiters are suspicious of the manager who counts the tips in private.
‘Most restaurants are very clean,” says 25-year-old *Lwazi Majola, ‘but if something falls to the floor, we’re definitely going to pick it up, fix it and put it back on the plate. I’ve worked from your takeaway places to five-star restaurants. It’s basically the same kitchen.”
Much of the hygiene standards, however, are incumbent on the chef. ‘There are some that are house proud and there are some where you just pray for the safety of the customers,” she says. ‘When I worked at Villa d’Este [a now defunct seafood restaurant in Durban], there was this chef who was basically the champion of drool. He’d be hunched over [cooking] and sweating over the food. There was a running joke there that we didn’t have to worry about salt because he had it covered. But he was fired after two months.”
Majola took to waiting on tables after she had problems completing her degree. ‘I had nothing else to do, I spoke well, I was funny and I could sell anything, [so] it made sense to be a waitress. It was flexible working environment and I didn’t have to commit to anything.”
‘Take-away restaurants like Mimmos — in my student days — for example, give you like a 3% commission on top of your tips, which aren’t healthy anyway,” she recalls. ‘The commission was because of the prices and the specials. The place attracted a lot of Indian people and they’d share specials. Indians generally are not good tippers and this was at Villa d’ Este as well. I mean we’d serve the Mo Shaiks and even they wouldn’t tip.”
What emerged from speaking to waiters was the erratic nature of the tips and the huge disparities in earnings. While Majola can pull in R600 to R900 on a good night, *Aaron Moatung, a father of two and a former security guard who lives in downtown Johannesburg, works for Dros, a steakhouse franchise, says on some rough nights it can be just R10 for transport. ‘It’s a gamble this thing, but it depends on your service. I’ve learnt to be talkative,” he says. ‘The more you joke with your customers, the more they like you. Sometimes it’s just playing your cards right and budgeting. But maybe if I worked somewhere like the Butcher Shop in Sandton, where a bottle of wine can go for R7 000, then I’d feel like I’m employed, I’m selling something. Here the most expensive bottle is R100 — what’s 10% of that?”
* Names have been changed