In 2013 I got hired to be the new general manager of a brand new restaurant in a coastal New England town.

This town is not unlike the other 100’s of coastal New England towns spread up and down the coast.

The town is made up of tourists who do day trips, as well as those who vacation for weeks at a time.

It also has summer locals who have vacation homes scattered around town. Some of the summer cottages are modest two bedroom condos. Some of them are multi million dollar beach affairs with stunning views of the coast.

Our little town also has a decent year round population that is spread along the economic number line. Average families with 2.5 kids, two cars and a dog. As well as average families with 2.5 kids, a private jet, two yachts, and a personal chef.

With the town residents whether real locals, summer locals, or locals for the day there are certain expectations they all bring to the table.

So.

When I started as the GM of my little restaurant, I was warned in the ways to keep the locals happy. Local discounts. Holding tables, and barstools for locals. Secret menus. Special reservation rules. We were told to keep them happy or we wouldn’t survive.

Myself, my boss, and the person who headed the company we worked for discussed these ideas for weeks as we prepared to open. What to do? What to do?

What I kept coming back to was how do we know who real locals are? License plates? Drivers license? Residential address. Business address? What about people who work here but don’t live here?

Is it based on how much money you have? Are the Smith’s with their yacht are more important than the Clark’s who drive a Camry.

I was new to being a GM but I was vocal in projecting that ALL if our guests should be treated the same.

ALL equal.

I won out.

Not only that.

We were all in agreement that we should not take reservations. We could ultimately seat more people, and make more money if it was first come first seated.

We lived by these policies for five summers.

All of this seems no nonsense.

What we didn’t count on was how coddled some of the residents had been by the other restaurants in town.

Certain people were treated like royalty.

So when we opened we were called regularly for reservations. Our staff would explain that we didn’t take reservations at which point they heard a lot of:

Don’t you know who I am?

But I’m a local?

But I live on Marshall Point Road?

But I’m Mrs. Grant’s assistant and I assured her that I could get her a reservation.

This is when they decided that our $14 dollar an hour host wouldn’t do and they’d ask to speak to me.

I was very practiced in saying NO after five summers.

No you can’t have a reservation.

Yes I know who you are.

I hear Marshall Point is a very nice street.

This was made even more complicated by one of our owners who was small of stature that felt that throwing around his ability to skirt the rules made him feel bigger. He’d call at 6:45 saying we were to seat his friends the next available table, although there were people, regular people, who’d been waiting for over an hour.

As I became more and more comfortable saying no I became less, and less, and less, and less popular with a lot of the locals.

They loved the restaurant. The loved the food.

They hated our policies, and especially the person tasked in keeping them enforced.

In fact, we actually had a group 15 or so regulars call a meeting with me to discuss their treatment in the restaurant. They were unhappy that they were being asked to leave our oyster bar on Saturday nights after happy hour, even though they had spent 1,000’s of dollars over the last few weeks.

They even brought a spreadsheet.

I had to explain that yes, they might spend a 1,000 dollars. But they took over the space, took pride in being so obnoxious that no one else would sit in the room with them and basically got a private room with no fee. And that although they might spend 1,000 dollars, that if they weren’t there the room would ring 3,000+. So it was actually better for us not to have them.

They never returned and were not quiet about how they felt about me. In fact my current chef, had the same problem along with several other restaurants in town with these folks.

This has been my long way of saying that lots of people in town did not like me.

That being said, I had tons and tons and tons of people who loved me. Some of them are friends on Facebook, some have been to my home, some I’ve visited their homes. We’ve met for drinks. Had dinner together. They are true friends.

When I started my current job I was worried about my reception. I don’t even think I said this to Adam. When you’ve been the enemy, will they want you back.

And I started and the summer progressed and except for one asshole on my second day, they’ve all been kind. They’ve all welcomed me.

However, I’m not unaware that they like me now because the rules have changed. I have not changed. I’m the same, it’s just that I can help them with last minute reservations. I can squeeze them in when there is no room. I can add two chairs to their reservation when friends show up unexpectedly.

I’m useful to them.

This all came up today because one of my favorite regulars, apologized for her friend’s behavior when they were in last week. Her friend had pulled me over to complain about her meal a week earlier. I listened and as I said last night, said all the right thing.

So tonight I was apologized to for her behavior. I mentioned that I knew she didn’t like me from my last job and this was confirmed. She even mentioned to my regular how much she used to dislike me, but now that she can call and leave a massage and get a last minute reservation turns out I’m not so bad.

I assured my friend I didn’t care. This was nothing I didn’t already know. And that it truly said more about her than me.

I thought about this exchange on my drive home.

And it made me sad. Sad that there are people in the world who only like those in their life who can provide a service for them. How shallow their friend pool must be. How truly sad their lives must be.

I’m thankful that I don’t look for what my reward will be when I’m kind to someone. I’m grateful that I am nice to people at work every day with no expectations beyond their having a good time.

Something I realized tonight:

Sometimes it’s nice to have grown up without economic privilege.