It could have been my worst night working in F&B. The diners made it my best

After 40 years working in hospitality and F&B, I thought I had seen it all.

The challenges are well known: long hours, difficult customers, manpower shortages and the sheer physical demands of the job. After a while, it all becomes part of your life, and the challenges, par for the course.  

But that one Wednesday in May was different. 

I was several months into managing a boutique Italian restaurant in Joo Chiat. Like many eateries, we were often short-handed. That evening, walk-in customers started streaming in one after the other. 

But that was also the day two staff members failed to turn up for work unexpectedly. One had misread his duty roster, while the other called in sick. I found myself practically running the entire restaurant alone – with more than 60 seats. 

I was taking orders, serving food, mixing drinks, pouring wine, clearing tables, serving the next course and making sure every guest was attended to. I suppose, at least I didn’t have to cook the food, I thought to myself. 

The restaurant was packed and there was hardly a moment to stop moving, from the start of service right until closing time.

Every time I completed one task, three more seemed to appear. Guests needed menu recommendations. Tables had to be made ready for the next diners. Drinks had to be prepared. Food had to reach the dining room as quickly as possible. 

I’ve had nights like these before. They’re physically and mentally draining – and I go home feeling dejected, exhausted and, sometimes, ready to throw in the towel. 

But that evening, I went home reminded of how I still love what I do after all these years. 

Turning the night around

I think the change happened because I was honest with the diners. I apologised for the delay, explained that we were short-handed and told them the food might take up to an hour.

Some chose to stay. Others left. Whatever their reaction, I stayed calm and continued serving everyone with a smile.

Then a couple stopped me on their way out. I’d never seen them before that night. The gentleman looked me straight in the eye and said, “You’re doing an amazing job.” Then he left me a tip.

Next came another couple who were making a return visit. They recognised me immediately and were pleased to see a familiar face. Before leaving, they complimented me and left a tip as well.

But what left the deepest impression was the final table of the night.

They were complete strangers. By then, it was close to 10pm. I was running on empty. My legs ached, my shirt was soaked with perspiration, and exhaustion was setting in, although I tried my best not to show it.

Before they left, they spoke to me with such warmth that I felt the tears well up.

“Thank you for taking care of us,” one said. “We’ve been in your shoes before. We could see how hard you were working tonight.” Then they hugged me.

I stood there stunned long after they had gone.

What moved me was not the tips or the compliments. It was a reminder that kindness can come from unexpected places. In the midst of a demanding shift, when I felt almost invisible behind the constant motion of service, a few words of appreciation made me feel seen.

The joys of hospitality

Perhaps it affected me so deeply because of how I was raised.

My parents were both wheelchair users from the time I was born. They never allowed hardship to define them. We did not have much growing up, but my late mother always believed in sharing whatever we had and treating everyone with kindness and respect.

Those values guided me throughout a colourful career, far beyond the restaurant floor. 

I was part of the team that helped to open the Hard Rock Cafe in Singapore, and later worked in Bangkok and Kuala Lumpur. I also worked in a live entertainment company as an artiste liaison officer, where I rubbed shoulders with international stars like the late Michael Jackson, Rod Stewart and Cyndi Lauper. 

I also ventured into business, running a pizza outlet and co-owning a fine-dining restaurant along Mohamed Sultan Road.

Yet the greatest satisfaction has always come from something much simpler: making people from all walks of life feel welcome and cared for.

Today, at 60, I still love hospitality.

I have worked doggedly through times of packed dining rooms, the rush of festive fever, and also through difficult seasons, both personal and professional.

Yet that one Wednesday night stands out because the diners’ appreciation came straight from the heart.

They did not just see a waiter doing his job. They saw a tired man trying his best to hold everything together, and they responded with empathy.

I have since left the restaurant. But memories of that special night will follow me. 

In hospitality, good service is often taken for granted. People notice immediately when something goes wrong, but rarely pause to acknowledge the effort behind the scenes.

That night reminded me that people do not come to restaurants only for food, but also for warmth, comfort and human connection.

Sometimes, all it takes is a small gesture for a bond to form, however briefly.

Their words cost nothing, yet they reminded me why I still love what I do after all these years. That, to me, is joy.