Since my first week of being a GM, I committedmyself to being a teacher to those on my staff who are young.

I’ll never forget during our first hiring event before David’s even opened a young man named Charlie came in for an interview. He looked at the floor while telling me he was outgoing and confident.

I hired him. Then took the opportunity to coach him on his handshake, his eye contact, and his answers. He worked for me for two summers.

Same summer a parent called me up to discuss her daughter’s schedule. She called at 7:00 on a Saturday night. I very curtly informed her that I’d never discuss a schedule at 7:00 on Saturday and I’d never discuss her daughters schedule with her, as she, the mother, didn’t work for me. She hung up on me. The daughter never returned.

I’ve had lots of conversations with young employees.

A young man, named Nick was a food runner our first season at David’s. Our second season I let him be a junior bartender. Meaning, he worked Monday through Friday lunches on service bar. He didn’t complain, because he was learning.

All summer long he spoke of being a ski bum in Colorado.

I have had the following conversation a million times with young staff members.

Learn to wait tables. Bartend. Cook.

Then put your shit in your car, a truck, a uhaul. And drive someplace fun. Nebraska, Iowa, Florida, San Diego, Alaska. You have a desired skill. You can get a job.

Go have fun. Come home when your ready.

This is the story of my personal life.

Meanwhile, Nick stayed in Maine because of his girlfriend.

She broke up with him on Christmas Eve 2014.

Two days later he gave notice. Last I heard from him he was in Colorado.

Big intro to my real post.

I use my job as a teaching tool.

When I started at my current job I had a haram of hot boys who were food runners. Seriously, the ugly one could work for Abercrombie.

I did not hire them. I’ve only hired hot girls since I started. You know who you are. Especially Bob and Garrett

Any way.

First of August, a food runner gets his shifts covered so he can drive to New Jersey to see his girl friend. Perfect.

Unfortunately, his friend, going with him doesn’t get his shifts covered.

He texts about four minutes before his shift to say he won’t be there.

I don’t text back.

Weekend comes and goes.

Wednesday rolls around and the texting, missing employee shows up for his shift.

He does his opening side work and I ask to see him in G4.

When he arrives, he finds me and our sous chef Joe. My witness.

90 seconds later he is terminated and on his way home.

He was totally perplexed as to why, although he missed his shifts with no excuse.

Once again, long build up.

This employee’s mom was in for dinner. I ask about him. I let her know that she can let him know we’d be happy to have him back next summer.

Which led her to say, thank you for teaching him a lesson. Thank you for making him come to work and doing the grunt work before you fired him. Thank you for making him grow up. He definitely learned a lesson.

It reminded me that I made the right decision. It also reminded me that my job is a teaching job.

And I was glad his mom wasn’t mad at me.

Whew!

Birthdays are the fucking worst.

There I said it.

Why you ask?

Well.

First.

Chain restaurants have made everyone believe they are special for being born.

My old boss used to say everyone has a birthday, Why should that cost me money.

Second.

No one over the age of 3 is surprised by a dessert being brought to the table with a candle.

Here’s the deal.

It’s a pain. Your server has to be told. If we catch it. And I appreciate that you told me on the way to the table but we are knee deep in people and I’m easily distracted.

Also, not every restaurant has a person in the kitchen who is skilled at writing messages in chocolate on your plate.

And, if the birthday girl absolutely doesn’t want dessert what are we supposed to do?

We don’t give free desserts. So if no one orders dessert we are really in a pickle.

So, tell your waiter. Order dessert. Don’t be super sneaky. The person knows it’s their birthday. They are 50. The reason you are all together is because it’s their birthday.

And don’t yell at me when we forget. Do you know who specializes in birthdays? Chuckie Cheese. Go there.

Please!

Tonight was a weird night.

Weird energy.

Weird weather.

Perfect for Halloween weekend.

Except for a little snafu at the start of the night everything was going well.

Around 7:45 a couple comes in for their 8:15 reservation. By all measures, the couple sitting at their table should be up any second now.

PS. The couple at their table is Mr Finn’s daughter and her partner. She had told me she’d be in. She’s so sweet. I bought them dessert. I thanked for her kindness during her last visit.

However, Mr. Finn’s daughter isn’t budging. So we are worried we’ll run late.

Meanwhile, while the couple is waiting, I’m at the door.

The gentleman asks for a nice table.

I tell him all our tables are nice.

He asks to see a menu

We asks if it’s Latin food.

I explain we are an Argentinian steakhouse.

Nothing in depth.

Staccato Questions.

Staccato answers.

He eventually tells me he and his wife own a restaurant.

Ugh. Here goes.

It turns out it’s a real restaurant. Upscale. Beautiful space. He asked me to look it up on the iPad.

Suddenly the conversation takes a turn. More engaging. More warm. For both of us.

They’ve owned it for a while. They do 1.3 million a year in event revenue. He’s the operations manager. She’s the chef.

They have great staff. Been with them forever. Her sous chef for 18 years. They’ve been staffed all summer.

I share our staffing information.

She talks about being a working chef. How they’ve gone away for the weekend to celebrate her birthday. They can do this because of their excellent management team.

Around this time a table exits. And the host and I look at each other with the same idea.

She whispers that she’s going to bus F5.

I say I’ll ask the question.

I explain to them that their table is running late. However, the chef’s table is now free. It will offer a chance to see our chef and the kitchen in action. They’ll be able to see the flow of the restaurant. Also the server at the chef’s table will offer a great experience.

They bite.

And the rest of their evening was magical to quote them. They had an amazing time. Their server, who we’ll call Jen, because that’s her name, pulled out all the stops. Including singing happy birthday to the wife when she brought dessert.

Our chef came out and they chatted for about 20 minutes. Turns out they have lots of mutual acquaintances.

When they left they stopped by the host stand again to let me know how grateful they were for their magical evening.

It really is experienced like this that remind me why I like my job.

A reservation that should have been just like the other 45 reservations tonight turned out to be amazing for the guests and us.

They also tipped the server around 50%. And gave me 20 for making their night.

Cheers. To nice people.

PS. Their restaurant which is pretty busy and pretty big is in a very small town in Connecticut. About six minutes after I sat the couple another couple comes by on their way out. The woman goes to the restroom, the husband I chat. Turns out they live in the same small Connecticut town and know the owners. They didn’t want to interrupt their dinner but did tell me to tell them hi.

Small world. Isn’t it.

The phone rings.

I answer.

Hi. I’m John. I’ve known George the owner for years.

(I interrupt to say that our owner has a Spanish name that begins with a G. In English his name would be pronounced with a J. In Spanish it’s pronounced with an H sound. You know who really knows him by how they pronounce his name).

He doesn’t know him.

He then explains that he’s looking for takeout.

Which we don’t do.

But before I can say this he explains that he’s actually looking for Uber Eats.

I laugh.

You can’t get a regular Uber at my restaurant, let alone Uber Eats.

I explain that we have neither takeout or Uber Eats.

He expresses his displeasure and hangs up.

Perhaps it’s an untapped revenue stream for us.

Here’s a story about the Finns who came in last night.

Their story began on Wednesday night around 7:45.

The phone rings.

It’s Mr Finn.

He begins by letting me know how disappointed he is with us because no one has returned his call.

I explain that we don’t return messages that come in after service starts till the next day.

He angrily says, I called at 4:50. Service starts at 5:00. You should have called.

He’s technically not wrong.

He’s called to let us know that he booked a high top when he made his reservation because it was the only thing available. But he and his wife are in their 80’s and his daughter is in her 60’s so a high top will just not do.

For someone who needs something from me he is not very nice.

For a 1/10th of a 1/10th of a 1/10th of a second I think about saying tough luck.

But there are several openings and I not only move them, I give them one of the best tables in the restaurant.

Fast forward.

Last night I’m standing at the door and in walks a party. Far from pleasant.

I ask if they have reservations and he grunts yes.

It takes 1 seconds for me to know it’s the Finns.

I send them off to be seated.

I literally turn around to greet the next table when a server arrives to let me know table 12 wants the music turned down. It’s the Finns.

That’s a whole separate post that I’ve started twice and veered from, but long story short we don’t turn the music down. Remind me next week to explain.

I tell the server, of course I’ll turn it down.

I always tell them that.

I never turn it down.

I go back to seating people.

15 minutes later the server is back. Table 12 demands we turn the music down.

I say okay.

Go back to seating people.

30 minutes later the server lets me know that table 12 is demanding to speak with a manager.

I go to the table.

It’s my first time really looking at them. Two really, really old folks. A youthful looking daughter.

I introduce myself.

He launches in.

Turn down the music.

I try to explain.

He’s having none of it.

I try again.

He shuts me down.

While I’m talking I can clear as day see him shooting squirrels with a BB gun and yelling at kids to get off his lawn.

I’m watching this movie in my head when his daughter interrupts and says, enough dad, you’ll be fine.

I leave.

15 or 20 minutes later I’m at the host stand when the daughter goes to the restroom.

She stops.

And apologizes for her parents. She says that she and her sister for years have been apologizing for her parents grumpiness. She says she always lingers at the end of the meal to say sorry.

I explain, that I too had a mother who enjoyed being grumpy. That I loved her dearly but could never understand why she was so impatient. (We actually discovered later it was because she had secretly started smoking again and when she hung out with family she was suffering from nicotine withdrawal. Who wouldn’t be grumpy?).

She went to the restroom and when she came out we chatted some more.

She ended the conversation by letting me know she was coming in with her partner on Saturday. Did I mention she was a lesbian. It made me love her even more!

She goes back to the table.

Eventually she comes back to the door. They are finished. She’s going to get the car.

She pulls up and the parents come from the dining room.

I ask how dinner was.

They say the food was great. But they are disappointed in me. I never turned the music down and I did nothing for their daughter’s birthday which is why they were here.

I apologize but they aren’t having it.

They leave.

30 seconds later the daughter reappears and hands me money.

She explains that not only are her parents grumpy. They are also cheap.

I think to myself: My mom could be cranky but once upon a time she was a server. She always tipped at least 20% so I never had to pay for her grumpiness.

Here’s the thing.

We aren’t Chuckie Cheese and we really don’t do anything for birthdays. And we really don’t do anything if you don’t say can we get a candle.

Also your daughter is at least 60. It might be a bit late for you to do birthday surprises.

I really want to be understanding. But I am over excusing old people for being assholes. I don’t care that you’re 87. Be nice. It’s easy.

A friend just published this book.

I seriously hope being cranky is one of them.

https://www.amazon.com/Stupid-Things-Wont-When-Unapologetically/dp/0806541008

I work in a very small community.

Everyone knows everyone.

So everyone knows my chef/owner.

Lots of people have his personal cell number.

And they will text him directly for a reservation.

My chef/owner is a super, awesome great guy.

So.

He never says no.

Tonight.

He called me.

On the restaurant phone.

He was in the kitchen.

To ask for a reservation for three.

At the bar.

At 7:00.

If this is your first post from me today, below this you’ll know that the bar was stacked tonight.

I did not have room for three at the bar.

Fun fact.

You can’t say no to chef.

He tells me that he told his friends to just come in.

We’d just figure it out.

Would you believe it, that this doesn’t annoy me. He’s such a great guy. And truth is, as I told Stephanie tonight, it always works out.

So it’s 5:05.

I have two hours to figure this out.

As I told Joe, at one point tonight I looked at the reservations and the numbers started to move and light up like in the movie A Beautiful Mind.

I had my answer.

The Smiths were celebrating their 14th anniversary. I’d move them from the bar to the dining room.

I’d move the Jones’ there.

The Johnson’s’ here.

Suddenly I had three chairs where I didn’t before.

All was good in the world.

It always works out.

And if it doesn’t they yell at me.

Which is why I get the big bucks.

Guess who else was in tonight?

You’ll never guess.

Remember the really attractive girl, who looks like the hostesses in NYC who waited for her date etc? The one who was late for her reservation and used her pouty lip to try and get seated late?

Yeap.

She arrives at 6:30.

1 at the bar.

No reservation.

As you already know. The bar was fucking booked.

Really, really, really booked.

She is not having it.

Pouty lip.

It’s just me.

Pouty lip.

Just one chair.

Pouty lip.

Just me.

Pouty lip.

Can I sit at that empty chair?

Pouty lip.

This goes on.

I tell her we are booked.

She will not take no for an answer.

She wants to know what the wait is.

We don’t run a wait.

Pouty lip.

She finally looks at me, says she’s going to wait and sits down in the lobby.

Fuck.

I finally get her seated around 7:30.

But of course not where she wants.

I tell her she can’t move because the reservation is coming in for The Patriots game.

20 minutes she’s canoodling with Mr Burns from the Simpson’s who was seated beside her.

Fun fact.

Plus.

1.

Does not equal two when discussing reservations.

Our bar was booked tonight.

Saturday in August booked.

Fairly tight turns. Everything needing to move.

There was no room for error tonight.

So.

When Beverley walked in for her 1 top reservation at 5:45 saying she was 2 people I panicked.

Uh. Oh.

I explained that she only booked 1.

She says she booked 1. Her friend booked 1. What was the problem?

Anyone want to guess?

Yes. Not a problem. I had both reservations.

It was only a problem if they wanted to sit together.

She seemed perplexed.

I said, Give me a second.

I Looked. And looked.

And realized I could seat them together if they were up in 60 minutes.

I tell her this.

She agrees.

I clarify.

She seems confused.

I explain that I said the same thing a week ago and the two ladies stayed five hours.

She promises.

I seat her.

Her friend arrives ten minutes later.

I tell him what we’ve agreed to.

He agrees. He’s a regular.

He actually left before her.

She left two minutes late.

Whew!

Crisis averted.

Fun fact.

On Thursday’s there is sports balls on tv.

How do I know this?

Because Joe watches said sports balls while cooking. He also talks about said sports balls. And something about fantasizing about quarterbacks and tight ends.

Joe is our executive sous chef. He’s also the guy who got me the job. We used to work together elsewhere.

Also our kitchen is set up so all the chefs have a clear view of three large screen TVs. They always know the score.

So.

Tonight I asked Joe a vague question about the game tonight. I was interested because the bar was crazy booked.

He said yes it was expected to be a good game.

So I took his ambiguous answer to my ambiguous question and ran with it.

I proceeded to tell people all night the bar was booked because everyone was coming in to watch the expected great game tonight being played by The Patriots.

I probably said this 15 times.

This is a long way of saying that if the people didn’t know I was gay…

they do now.

Well. Well. Well.

Guess who walked through the front door tonight.

Remember the bad review I get three or so weeks ago.

Remember the guy who publicly claimed he’d never be back.

Remember how he said I was an asshole.

Yeap.

Rolled in promptly for the 730 reservation at 7:55.

Pretended not to know me. Tried to engage the bartender about the less than friendly host at the door. The host who actually went out of the way to make sure you and your friends were able to sit together. The host who only said hello when you entered.

Yeah.

That guy. Sporting his reddest of red hats. On backwards of course. Guess what was written on the front of the hat?

It clearly told us everything we needed to know about him.

And of course.

Nothing was right.

Somehow, my stellar bar staff who waits on more people than any other persons in the building made not 1, not 2, but 3 mistakes.

I don’t buy it.

They also stayed forever when we should have been on our way home at 9:30.

We’ll see if he writes another review.

PS. He didn’t touch me tonight. But he did rub his hand down the shoulder of the server who sat him. She was not amused.