The Dragon's Command Board
How I Run the Applebee's Host Stand as a Blind Host
At the host stand of my local Applebee’s sits a blue 3D printed board covered in Braille table numbers and tiny pegs.
I call it the Dragon’s Command Board.
When the dinner rush hits and half the restaurant suddenly decides to leave at the same time, that board tells me exactly where the next party should go.
I’m a blind host, and this is how I run the front of house.
The Beginning
In 2020 I was a typical high school graduate who was nervous about what the adults around me loved to call “the real world.” I decided to take a gap year and work, if I could even find employment. (About 85% of the blind population is unemployed.)
After lots of job hunting and dealing with terribly inaccessible websites and job applications, I applied to my local Applebee’s and a pizza place. I was pretty doubtful I would hear back from either of them. People often assume it’s impossible for a blind person to work in a fast-paced environment, especially a restaurant.
To my surprise, Applebee’s called me back. They actually wanted to check out this blind dragon.
I’ll be honest, I don’t remember whether I disclosed my disability on the application. Either way, it was obvious when I showed up with my white cane. My fellow blind folks know how that moment can go: suddenly the employer realizes you’re blind, and the assumptions start rolling in. But the interview went great. We talked about accommodations and expectations. I told them I would involve vocational rehabilitation and an Orientation & Mobility specialist to help me learn the environment.
I also made one thing clear: they shouldn’t lower expectations just because I’m blind. I’m just as capable as anyone else, maybe even a little more capable than my soon-to-be coworkers.
Still, I had a question in the back of my mind: How could I actually run the host stand?
Because I started during the COVID-19 pandemic, learning the workflow was chaotic. Capacity rules kept changing, table numbers changed, and the layout wasn’t stable. There used to be a table 18, now it doesn’t exist at all!
My O&M instructor and I spent time in the restaurant learning the layout, sometimes during quiet hours and sometimes even during shifts. Memorizing where every table was took time. Without sight, I had to rely heavily on spatial awareness until it became second nature. Today, I can sometimes tell when people leave certain sections just by listening. For example, I can usually tell when someone leaves the bar area because I hear them walk up the two stairs that separate it from the main restaurant. Sometimes I can even tell when guests leave the section to my left, especially from the first booth or the table closest to the host stand. I hear chairs being pushed in, the rustle of to-go boxes and bags, and the small sounds people make when they’re packing up to leave. Of course I can’t tell every time someone leaves a table. Restaurants are noisy places. But when it’s slower, those little sounds stand out more. Sometimes I can even walk past a booth and tell my coworkers a table might be getting up soon because I hear people packing up their leftovers or sliding chairs back. After a while, you start to learn the rhythm of the room.
The bar area was the most confusing. There were so many high-top tables that they all blended together in my mental map. What helped was that some tables were round. The change in shape made them easier to identify.
My coworkers were incredibly supportive throughout the process. They learned how to work with me instead of around me, and I’m still grateful for that today.
The one place I still struggle with? The kitchen. The back of house is a maze of carts, boxes, and trash bags with turns everywhere. At the end of my shifts someone usually directs me to the back door, because one time I almost walked into the freezer. The freezer door and the back door are surprisingly close together.
As hosts, we’re also responsible for bussing and wiping down tables. Servers can pre-bus if things are slow or if they’re feeling generous, but most of the time the hosts handle it. I can wipe tables just fine, but bussing can be tricky when you’re holding a cane. Most people stack plates and carry them to the kitchen, which is hard to do safely without a tray.
The Evolution of the Dragon’s Command System
As I became more comfortable with the layout, my vocational rehab counselor connected us with a job coach who specialized in adapting work environments.
She looked at the tablet system my coworkers used and talked with the managers about the floor plans. Together we figured out how to create an accessible version of the seating chart.
The result was my first tactile seating chart. It was a sheet of paper with tiny command hooks representing each table. Braille numbers were added beside them. The host stand was marked with puffy paint, and the bar area had its own Braille labels. We used large metal jump rings to mark tables that were occupied. When a party was seated, I placed a ring on the hook. When the table became dirty or open again, I removed it.
Running my fingers across the chart, I could instantly feel which tables were open and which ones were occupied. It was basically the restaurant’s seating map, just built for my hands instead of my eyes.
My coworkers help keep the system updated too. If they seat someone while I’m busy or wipe down a table while I’m helping guests, they’ll say something like, “32’s clean!” and remove the ring for me.
For managing the waitlist, I use an Orbit Reader 20 Braille display. It lets me type quickly and keep track of guests waiting for tables. People often comment on how fast I type on my “little box,” which always makes me smile.
There was still the iPad system my coworkers used. Apple’s screen reader, VoiceOver, technically works with it, but Yelp Guest Manager isn’t the most accessible, especially the floor plan.
From what I’ve been told, the tables appear as colorful shapes on the screen. That doesn’t help me much.
If I really try, I can navigate it. I tap the screen, swipe until I hear the table number I need, double-tap it, then swipe again until VoiceOver tells me whether it’s open, occupied, or dirty. Let me show you what “a minute or two” actually means in practice: that’s four separate gestures, each with its own wait, each one a small gamble that VoiceOver lands where I expect it to. In a restaurant, that’s a long time when guests are standing at the door waiting to sit down. That’s why I usually let my coworkers manage the tablet while I rely on my tactile seating chart. It’s not that I can’t use the iPad, it’s that inaccessible systems slow everyone down.
The Dragon’s Command Center: Version 2
A month ago, my tactile chart disappeared.
Gone.
I checked every shelf of the host stand. My coworkers checked the office. Even the managers looked around for it.
Nothing.
Someone probably threw it away by accident.
I felt a mix of frustration and sadness. That chart wasn’t just paper, it was the tool that let me run the host stand on my own terms.
Without it, I got a quick reminder of what “independence” actually looks like when the right tools aren’t there.
As the greeter and seater, my job is to make guests feel welcome from the moment they walk in and get them to their table smoothly. On busy days, especially Sunday afternoons, when the church crowd arrives and leaves in waves, the other hosts are doing what hosts do: bussing dishes, wiping tables, keeping the floor moving. If they fall behind on that, we run out of clean tables and the whole operation stalls.
With my chart, I handle my end independently. I run my fingers across the board, find an open table, and take the party there. The only time I need a coworker’s help is when a large group comes in and we have to push tables together, the same thing any host would need.
Without it, someone has to stop what they’re doing, check the iPad, and tell me where to go. Every time. That’s not just a problem for me, it pulls them away from the floor, the tables pile up, and suddenly the whole team is behind because one tool disappeared.
That’s what a month without my chart actually looked like.
This is the moment I call the Mass Exodus, when half the restaurant decides to leave at the exact same time, new guests pile up at the door, and everyone on the floor is already stretched thin. With my chart it’s manageable. Without it, it’s controlled chaos that costs the whole team time.
I contacted my vocational rehab counselor and explained the situation. Neither of us wanted to be pushy about it, we both knew solutions like this take time to coordinate, but the need was real and the workaround wasn’t sustainable.
We started brainstorming: wooden boards with pegs, magnetic systems, different layouts. Eventually she reached out to the Industrial Arts teacher at the Michigan Training Center for the Blind.
He 3D printed me a brand new tactile map.
The board is blue and covered with tiles. Each tile has a crisp Braille table number and a peg in the center where I can place my jump rings. Some tiles are connected to represent walls between tables, making the layout easier to understand by touch. The bar even has its own unique shape with the word “Bar” written in uncontracted Braille.
When my counselor dropped it off yesterday, I fell in love with it instantly.
Running my fingers across the board, I could feel the layout of the entire restaurant. The Braille was crisp, just like signage Braille you’d see on bathroom doors or on elevators, the walls were easy to distinguish, and the pegs worked perfectly with my jump rings.
After a month of waiting, the Dragon’s Command Board had returned, better than ever.
It’s a small piece of plastic, but it represents something much bigger: teamwork, creativity, and the idea that accessibility isn’t about lowering expectations, it’s about building the right tools.
My coworkers and I have learned what real communication looks like. I teach them how to work with me, and they teach me how to make guests feel welcome.
And to my fellow blind folks who might be wondering if you can work in a fast-paced environment like a restaurant: Yes. You. Can. Sometimes all it takes is the right system, and a little dragon stubbornness.