How "The White Lotus" Characters Would Treat Me if I was their Waitress

Sorry, we're fresh out of Lorazepam

You’re watching The White Lotus, right? Wait, duh, of course you are. Sorry I even asked. Anyway, what do you think of the season—crazy, right? The last episode had my skin crawling.

Those brothers… my god.

Mike White is a genius—a mildly disturbed one, but a genius nonetheless. And he surely didn’t have to wait until now to get his flowers, but something about this third season… the tension is palpable. Somehow, I’ve enjoyed seven straight episodes of second-hand discomfort? There’s something peculiar about this specific group: it’s like I’ve met these people before.

I’ve been a waitress for a few years now and have worked in a restaurant since I was sixteen. You know what that makes me? Really good at reading people. I know how table service is going to go for me before the hostess even seats a group in my section; the pace of a walk, a hair toss, a glance toward the bar, a hesitance to sit down—all of these tell me everything I need to know.

So, I thought it might be fun to combine those skills with my newest hyper-fixation: analyzing The White Lotus characters as if they were guests sitting in my section. Plus, I actually get to verbalize my judgments, which is, of course, incredibly unprofessional.

Chelsea

Move over, Maddy Perez, Chelsea is HBO’s newest “it girl”—except this one’s a lot less bitchy. Chelsea’s sweet, supportive temperament would overcompensate for the unsettling feeling I’d get from her disgruntled boyfriend Rick and his barely-audible mumbles for a double shot of whiskey. She’d hint with a soft, cheeky smile for a heavy pour while asking me my star sign and then tell me I’m doing a great job—even if I accidentally spilled a glass of pinot grigio on her dress. She’s just happy to be here, and she’s the highlight of my shift.

Rick

Upon Rick’s arrival, just know I’m scared. I’m thinking this man is miserable, hyper-particular—think the “I want it mooing” type when I ask how he wants his steak cooked, and then suddenly he’s calling me over, ranting that it’s “way too rare”—and worst of all: a bad tipper. I know he’s got money, too. He’s staying at The White Lotus, for Pete’s sake! If not for his ray of sunshine of a girlfriend, our interaction would be excruciating. Rick has no interest in engaging in pleasantries—even if only to make his own life easier. He can’t get up from the table fast enough, and, honestly? I’m relieved to see him go.

Jaclyn Lemon

Oooh. I really hope she likes me. Not only because she’s famous, but because if she doesn’t, I’m kind of screwed. She’s pretending that the stares from other tables bother her (we all know that’s not true), and wants a dirty martini—but only if we have blue cheese olives. Jaclyn also has approximately twelve-and-a-half niche dietary restrictions and assumes I’ll know which items on the menu she can eat. Gluten and dairy I expected, but, I was unaware that someone could have a sensitivity to nightshades specifically when they’re cooked. Back and forth to the kitchen I go, firing questions to Chef, but I’ll take that over facing Jaclyn’s wrath all because I served her a dish with roasted red peppers.

Kate

Oh, Kate is sweet. Very polite. She’d compliment my necklace and ask me to make sure the bartender doesn’t make her lemon drop too strong—she’s only ordering it because Laurie and Jaclyn insisted that a glass of Prosecco was too boring. She’d thank me every time I refilled her water, even if I wasn’t directly pouring it for her, and her entrée of choice is the watermelon feta salad, because “that’s fun, right?”

Laurie

Laurie puts me at ease. She’s very go-with-the-flow and orders a burger medium-well with “whatever it comes with,” to make up for Jaclyn’s overcomplicated requests. She asks for a beer recommendation but will go with whatever I say. As I recite some of our most popular ones, she says, “Honestly, I’m not picky, just give me your favorite.” When Kate asks me with a doe-eyed look for extra napkins, Laurie just reaches to the table next to them and steals one, shooting me a subtle gesture that says, “Don’t worry about it.” Truly a dream guest.

Timothy Ratliff

As he walks in, I can tell—this family is loaded. He’s probably a bit high-maintenance, but I’m sure he’ll encourage his sons to each order the $60 Strip Steak, just to make sure we all know they’re big, strong men who eat red meat. When he sits down, though, Timothy is barely there. I expected him to order for the entire table. Instead, he mumbles something about bourbon in a breathy, deep-southern accent before letting his wife take over for him. All night he’s practically a zombie—only moving to take phone calls every three minutes and then put his platinum card down on his family’s massive check.

Saxon Ratliff

Brace for impact. I’ve already been warned that he tried to hit on the 19-year-old hostess with a revolting pickup line that only resulted in his mother cackling maniacally. As I drop off his beer, he hits me with a wink and says, “Wow, you’re good at that. Do you do this professionally or something?” and then elbows his brother in the ribs to gauge his interest. Ugh, slimy. Across the restaurant, I hear him shouting, “LET’S GO!” like he’s watching his buddies do a keg stand at a tailgate, not at a respectable dining establishment, with other people trying to enjoy their meals in peace.

Lochlan Ratliff

I can barely hear this kid. It’s clear he wants the soup of the day, but is too afraid of what his father and brother will say if he actually orders it. He fidgets with the menu, avoiding eye contact, and only settles when his sister whispers to him, “It’s okay, I’ll let you have some of mine.” He stays quiet the whole meal, only speaking up to say, “Yeah, it’s good,” after his mother harasses him for not reacting performatively to his food, like his older brother did.

Piper Ratliff

Piper has it all together. She looks me dead in the eyes and asks for soup as an appetizer and roasted chicken breast for an entrée. With a cheery “Thank you so much,” our interaction concludes—that is, until her older brother has a sleazy outburst, and her mother makes a remark that is somehow both unintentionally rude and painfully obvious. She turns to me, nearly whispering, “I am so, so sorry about them,” with a mix of embarrassment and practiced politeness. As I turn away, I hear her exasperatedly saying to them, “We are in public! Why can’t you guys be normal for once?”

Victoria Ratliff

The one you’ve all been waiting for. The closest Mike White could get to re-imagining Jennifer Coolidge’s iconic Tanya McQuoid: none other than Victoria Ratliff. I’ve seen this woman a thousand times. She walks in rambling about nonsense in her Southern-Charm-influenced drawl, and I sneakily ask my manager if she needs to be cut off before I’ve even served her one drink. She’s loopy enough as it is. She somehow calls me “sweetie” six times while ordering a nice, large glass of “Merrrleaaaaauuuux” (for those unfamiliar with Victoria-speak: Merlot) before launching into a tirade about the latest “scandal” involving the ladies on the board of The Magnolia & Rose Society for the Preservation of Southern Traditions. Though mildly insufferable, her borderline offensive one-liners are ones that’ll become inside jokes of mine for a long time.

In the end, it's clear that these characters aren’t just exaggerated figments of Mike White’s wild imagination. They’re specific and familiar; that’s what makes them so real—and what makes The White Lotus so addictive. You could find any of them, from a Laurie to a Saxon-type, at any given restaurant, if you pay close enough attention. As for me, after analyzing them, I’m just happy to observe from the sidelines. I may not know them in real life, but I’ve met my own fair share of quirky characters that could just as well be on our screens each week. One thing’s for sure, though: no one does dysfunction quite like a dinner table.