This section is from the book "The Steward's Handbook And Guide To Party Catering", by Jessup Whitehead. Also available from Amazon: Larousse Gastronomique.
There are incoherent waiters,
And waiters who are rough; Apologetic waiters.
And waiters who are tough. There are waiters quite forgetful.
And absent-minded, too, And waiters always waiting.
For that little tip from you.
There's the waiter at Delmonico's.
The potatoes pome de tare, Who comes with supercilious air.
In answer to your call, As if it were an honour.
To notice you at all.
There's the absent-minded waiter.
The salt into your tea, And finally reduces you.
To abject misery.
The apologetic waiter,
With his sweet, eternal smile: Who lays his head upon one side.
And rubs his hands the while, Who is "really very sorry.
That we haven't that to-day," And who thinks it "Quite unfortunate,
That it's cooked in such a way".
There's the large and clumsy waiter.
Who is always very slow, And is forever stumbling.
Wherever he may go; Who drops the butter on your coat.
With extreme dexterity.
There's the thin and sporty waiter Who never takes your hat,
And makes a bowling alley.
Of the table you are at.
Who rolls the dishes down on you Regardless of their falls,
As if you were a nine-pin And they were bowling-ball.
There's the waiter at the seaside,
With his life of gilded ease; He's the one who's always waiting.
For those customary fees. He will starve yon to submission.
If his tip you should refuse, But treats you like a monarch.
If you give to him his dues.
There's the shabby-genteel waiter,
Whose clothing never fits; Who always brings your change to you.
In five and penny bits; And who also serves your dinner.
In sections, plate by plate, And sets it down before you.
Like an avenging Pate.
There's the waiter that's attentive.
And exceedingly polite, Who sees that what you order.
Is served exactly right; Your merest wish anticipates.
With such a cheerful will; Though you mean to tip a quarter.
He often gets a bill.
He's the waiter that's successful,
For he does his work so well That in certain length of time.
He owns his own hotel; And stands beside the cashier's desk.
And looks with lordly air Upon all the other waiters.
Who are waiting for him there.
New York World.
"In Washington you can get a highly seasoned and not entirely objectionable compound of Terrapin, in exchange for a moderate fortune, served up with Saratoga chips and a grand flourish by a haughty waiter, who will ostracize you socially afterward if you forget to give at least a dollar for himself. But walk into one of the right places in Baltimore, hang your hat up carelessly, and quietly follow these respectful suggestions: 'Po'tion o' tar'pin? Yezzah. Some nice sullery? Yezzah. Brown chips? Yezzah. Pinter Perry Juray? Yezzah!' and in about five minutes you will have a feast fit for the gods".