5:00/5:15/5:30 reservations will always show up early.

Always.

However!

The last reservations of the night will always come at best on time.

But.

Usually they come late.

Tonight’s last reservation was for 7:45. They arrived a few minutes before 8:00.

Additional fun fact.

It’s NEVER the last table that sits for an hour after close.

It’s the one who sits well before close.

This was true also tonight.

This is your quarterly reminder that the man who yelled at me and then told anyone who would listen, including the chef, our survey system and two social media sites that he was never coming back was in yet again.

He pretended not to know me.

I pretended that he wasn’t an ass

He ate, then snuck out the back so he wouldn’t have to ignore mow on his way out.

I’ll see him again in June.

The phone rings on Sunday night.

It’s a man asking to make a reservation in July.

I explain that we only book out 60 days and that he would be able to book online in May.

But.

But.

But.

But I’m in Shawnee, Kansas and I’m coming to Maine just to eat at your restaurant.

I thank him for the compliment, and explain that I can’t over ride the system. He’ll have to wait till May.

But.

But.

But.

I assure him if he calls back in May he’ll have no problem getting a reservation.

He asks if I’m sure.

I assure him he’ll be fine.

He thanks me and hangs up.

I wish we filled up that fast.

Lots of people coming in to the restaurant at the end of the night tonight.

We sat 4 tables at 7:45.

All should have been well. No issues. Just a normal night.

Until 8:30 when a server approaches the table that chef and I are seated at. He has in his hand a half eaten pork chop.

He explains that table 12 is insisting we served her chicken instead of pork. She says it looks like chicken. It tastes like chicken.

We all look at the plate.

It’s definitely a pork chop.

The server shows the sous chef in the kitchen. He confirms. It’s a pork chop.

The chef asks what the guest wants to do. The server has given her a menu to choose a new item.

But.

As I’ve said before.

There is no fire.

We might have enough to cook a skirt steak. But definitely nothing bigger.

I go to the table and explain that it is indeed a pork chop. We can only offer her a salad or a skirt steak, giving her my speech about end of night fire.

She declined to order anything else.

I apologized about the confusion, hoping she would change her mind.

But alas.

She did not.

She didn’t seem upset.

But I like when people leave happy. When I can turn things around.

Ugh.