It’s been a hot minute since I’ve been yelled at at work. That streak ended tonight. And wouldn’t you know it was in front of my new host, with no restaurant experience, who I told about difficult guests at his interview. It was his first day.

We got off to a rough start when the new host, who we’ll call Matt took the foursome into the dining room to seat them. He came back about six seconds later to say that they didn’t want a high top.

Before I followed him back to the table, I check and yes indeed they booked a high top.

I go to the table and explain that I can’t move them. There is only one table left in the restaurant and those guests booked it as a low table.

The older female of the two couples proceeds to protest. My husband is an amputee. He can’t sit here. I try to be considerate and explain that there’s nothing I can do.

The man protests to his wife and says he’ll be fine.

Great. Crisis averted.

I’m off.

Fast forward an hour. The server finds me to let me know that the woman and her son? had sent their steaks back. And that the woman is NOT pleased.

When the steaks are ready I take them to the table. She is outraged before I even set them down. It’s completely outrageous that the steaks were not cooked properly.

I apologize. The truth is every restaurant has recooks. Even the nicest, most expensive. We cook on a slow night 30+ steaks. On a night like tonight 150+. In the summer 250+. It’s going to happen.

Fun fact. I can count on both hands the number of times since I started that the chef has over cooked a steak. If he’s going to miss the mark, he’s going to get it under. I always joke he defaults to how he likes his steak.

The steaks tonight were under cooked. It took maybe four minutes to get them back out.

PS. They were a perfect medium rare when the server brought them back to the kitchen which is how they were ordered.

I set the steaks down and the woman launches into how I should be embarrassed to serve a steak like this for this price because the filet is so small.

She demands that I show her where the filet is on the plate.

For those who don’t know. The t-bone is made up of two parts divided by the bone. The strip is the larger piece, the tenderloin or filet is the smaller piece.

I explain that I can’t tell her that because to quote the server, she mangled the steak when she started eating it the first time. I say I have no idea because it’s been eaten and cut up. With a little more finesse then I wrote it.

This makes her angry. She proceeds to tell me there is no way she should have to pay our prices for this steak. Especially when it wasn’t cooked properly.

Ahhhh.

Now I know what she’s getting at.

She wants it for free.

That isn’t happening.

So I say, if you don’t want it, I can take it away.

At this point she becomes a petulant 4 year old. She demands I take it away. I pick it up and offer to get her something else. Chicken. A pork chop. Salmon.

She says absolutely not.

I walk away, as her son whose steak was also refired is chomping away.

When I get to the kitchen the chef asks what’s wrong. I explain.

He say’s, if she wanted a bigger filet she should have ordered the porterhouse.

More info:

The porterhouse and t-bone are both cut from the short loin. The back produces the porterhouse. As you move forward and the filet gets smaller it becomes a t-bone. I just learned 45 seconds ago that the filet of the T-bone only has to be 1/2 inch to be considered a t-bone. I wish I’d known this tonight.

Fun fact. A porterhouse costs more because the filet is bigger.

I digress.

I throw the perfectly good steak in the trash and go about my day.

Fast forward 30 minutes later.

I’m checking in with the host when the woman walks up to the host stand, stands about as close to me as she can and says, You should be ashamed of yourself.

For how you treated me, and serving that steak.

I ask what she means, as I took the steak away and offered to get her something else.

She tells me I smirked when I did it. I might have a little. Mostly because she was jonesing for free food.

I assure her that I did not I was just trying to figure out what she wanted.

She once again tells me I should be ashamed of myself.

She then inches closer and asks if she can have the name of the general manager.

I pull my business card out of my pocket it, hand it to her and say, that would be me.

She becomes outraged, throws the card at my face, says something I don’t remember and tells me like 12 more times I should be ashamed of myself.

She then opens the door to exit, turns one more time to say something, but I interrupt to say have a nice day and then she’s gone.

I breathe. Then I retreat to the corner to wallow in my shame.