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