I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Today a woman calls to say that they had baby sitter problems and would like to change their reservation of 5.

To one table of 3.

And another table of 3.

I could do it and so didn’t question it the math.

The first table of 3 was for 5:00.

The second table of 3 was for 8:00.

5:00 came and went and no 3 top. They called around 10 after to say they were running late. They arrived at 5:30. And were seated.

No big deal.

Until I find out that only 2 of them are eating. The other 3 top will be a woman from the first 3 top joining another 2 people.

So they are taking up a table for 3 so that only 2 people can eat.

And they sit and they sit and they sit.

And at 8:00 they are still sitting.

And at 8:00 the other couple shows up and the daughter comes out to ask them to join her at her table.

And I interrupted and explained that that couldn’t happen. I needed their table now for a 5 top arriving any minute now. So I could seat the three of them but they couldn’t join.

She was not happy, but they were sat, and the other couple left.

This was a first for me.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

What’s the hardest part of my job?

Who likes to play loose and fast with the weather?

NOT ME. Not any more.

I used to, but after Monday, never again.

There is a chance for thunderstorms again tomorrow.

Guess who has already called off the patio.

It’s just not worth the headache.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Tonight was the worst service I’ve had since I started at the restaurant. 

Of course it was. 

It’s Monday.  All the bad things happen on Monday. 

Every time I’ve been told to fuck off this year has been on Monday.  Every time I’ve been yelled at this year it’s been on Monday. 

Tonight was my own fault.  I was blinded by wanting to break a record this week and made the wrong decision.

Anybody want to guess what happened?

You probably already know. 

At 2:00 today it rained.  HARD.  Very, very, very hard. 

The rain they’d predicted was here, two hours early.

It cleared in about 30 minutes, then turned VERY humid. 

All weather reports, radar, forecasts said we were in the clear.  I texted the staff and told them to come on in.

It continued to be grey, but I watched the radar all afternoon.  We were in the clear.

And so at 4:50 we opened as usual. 

My host on Mondays can’t get to the restaurant until 6:30 and so I was on the door alone. 

Everything was going swimmingly.  Not a hiccup at all.  Based on the numbers it’s going to be a nice easy evening.   The first turn was all in by 6:00. 

I look up and my outside hosts is standing at my side and says, what’s our plan if it rains.

I laugh and say it’s not going to rain. 

He laughs and says that not what my app on my phone says.  He’s a marine biology student at a local university. 

FUCK.

I say again. 

IT’S NOT GOING TO RAIN!!!

It’s the power of positive thinking. 

He leaves.  I pick up a piece of paper and start formulating a plan.  First, I move all the later reservations inside.   Then I start exploring where to put the tables that are currently seated.

We do not save room for people to move inside.  I’ve worked at restaurant that had a table inside, for every table outside that was going to be seated. 

I look at how long they’ve been seated.  How much time they need to finish. 

I find an inside table for every table outside. 

I send for the host.  He arrives.  I give him that paper.  He heads outside.  I turn around and 4 minutes later the rain starts.  Just sprinkling but raining. 

I keep my fingers crossed that it’s just going to sprinkle and pass by. 

The host comes back says that right now everyone is okay. 

I say great.  But I have a plan just in case. 

About 90 seconds later the skies open.  A torrential down pour. 

About 90 seconds later 4 people walk thru the front door with drinks in their hand.  They’d been told to come in side, but not told where to sit. My host as the only copy of my plan.  What’s worse is that they’ve brought their drinks.  Not their food. 

Everyone who arrives after this is holding a cocktail but no food.  I’ll get back to this. 

I turn to head into the dining room with them and there is complete chaos.  It’s like a clown car.  People are coming thru every door in the restaurant.  I get the four people seated and the people just keep coming. 

When I say literally every door I mean every door.  A server has lead about 10 people directly thru the back door, into the kitchen, past the chef and into the dining room

There are people being seated everywhere.  Two people at the bar, who are followed by a food runner with food.   Four people at table 25.  They are followed with food.  4 people at 13 who are waiting on dessert. 

I hear the bell ding twice.  It’s the expo and chef wanting to know where the food for L-3 goes. 

FUCK.  I have no idea.  I find the server.  The food is delivered. 

Finally everyone is seated.  Most everyone has food.  One table is waiting because they ordered just before the deluge. 

I drop by every table, introduce myself and ask if they like the new water feature that we’ve added to ur restaurant to improve on everyone’s experience.  They are ALL gracious to a fault.  Not one person was upset.  Not one person was mad.  Everyone was happy. 

It’s approaching 6:30.  I can’t believe we’ve pushed thru this.

However, the chaos isn’t over.  Because the tables were not seated where I specified I have to figure out how to get everyone else, who is starting to come thru the door seated. 

I send a server to find out what is open in the 30’s.  The 30’s are a row of 2-tops.  They used to be 4-tops but we separated them for Valentine’s Day and never put them back together.  It’s very NYC and only 1 table has complained since February. 

90% of the tables we seat at 6:30 are 2-tops.  I get them all seated. 

I do have a 6 top at 6:30 who walks thru the door at about 6:35.  They had really wanted the patio when they called.  I tell them I can still seat them out there, but they’ll have to wait till it’s completely stopped and dried and reset.  The person who made the reservation explains that now it’s twice as humid, and everyone in his party is worried about mosquitoes. 

I tell him to step to the side and I’ll see what I can do.  But it’s going to be at least 7:00 before I can get him seated. 

Fun fact:  I can NOT solve your problem if your head is stuck over the host stand staring at me while I try to create magic.  I tell people all the time it’s The Queen’s Gambit for me.  I have to have a moment to slide into the world of the I-pad to find a solution.  Almost always there are at least one or two solutions.

It’s stopped raining.  He and his party move outside. 

I have no  idea how it’s going to happen, but I’ve given myself 30 minutes to find a solution. 

Meanwhile the lobby is filling up with 7:00 reservations.  It’s 6:40. 

My host who arrived in the middle of all this is by my side.

I’ve gotten all of my 6:30’s seatedt, but I have no idea what tables at sat and what tables are clear. 

I send my host to ask the servers who were on the patio where each table from the patio landed.  I need to know this so I know approximately where they are.  30 minutes. They are waiting on food.  45 they have their entrees.  70+ they are moving toward dessert.  90+ they are moving toward a check.

It’s not just enough to know the table is occupied, but I need to know their status.  I also can’t just seat a fake customer there as it fucks with our cover counts and it’s something we track to a tee. 

She is gone about 6 hours.  Not her fault, but the servers don’t seem to understand the importance of what I need.

I tell her to stay at the host stand, but to only greet and mark people present, not to seat anyone. 

I find all the servers; get the tables moved on the I-pad.  I’m back in about 5 minutes. 

My timeline is off, but the clock is ticking.  People continue to walk in.

Then a couple walk in with reservations at the bar.  I tell them what I’ve told everyone at this point.  We’ll get you seated as soon as we can. 

This is because I now know where the table are seated.  But I have to start moving things.  7:30 are moved to place holders.  7:00 are moved to empty tables.  Until I have no more.  Then I move them to place where I think there will be empty places soon. 

I’m still trying to figure this all out.  The clock is ticking and the couple for the bar looks at me.  Looks at the bar.  And says, but It’s empty.  Yes.  The bar was empty, but I need 5 minutes.  I say to them once again, I’ll get you seated in just a few minutes.  He looks at the bar.  Looks at me.  And says, but  it’s empty.  I say once again, yes.  I know.  But I need a few minutes.  At this point I have about 8 minutes to get them seated on time.  I go back to the I-pad, the man looks at me as he walks into the bar and say, I’m just going to seat myself.

OH. NO.  YOU.  DIDN’T. 

I take a breath and say.  Uh. NO.  YOU WON’T. 

He says why not. 

Remember.  The lobby is filled right now.  At least 20 people.

Without missing a beat, I say, because I said so.   SIR.  We just moved 35+ people into the dining room.  I need to figure out where they are and get organized before I seat another table.    

He finally understood.  But to remind me of his disappointment he and his wife whispered loud enough for everyone to hear that it was silly that the bar was empty. 

I play out this scene about the bar being empty and the making people wait three times.  Each one, more aggressive than the next.   I’m almost shouting at one point, I just moved a million people inside, calm the fuck down. 

I’m reaching my breaking point. 

At one point a woman who has a reservation at the bar for 1 walks in.  She checks in and I say it will be a few minutes till I can get you seated.  She sits down.  She pops into my space a few minutes later and says, uh, can I just sit at the patio bar.  I tell her no.  A few minutes later she looks at me and says, do you always close the patio at 6:30?  I say no.  It was raining.  She says, but it’s not raining now.  I explain that the patio is closed for the evening, but I’ll get her seated soon.    Three minutes later, she asks for the Wi-Fi password. 

This one pissed her off the most.  We do not have public Wi-Fi.  Not or guests.  Not for staff.  Myself and Chef are the only people with access.  And I only have access to the non-secure network. 

She huffs at me and sits back down.

Now I look up and a VIP friend of Chef’s is standing in front of me.  He as a 7:00 reservation and the people at his table just got their dinner.  I explain what’s going on and he says great and apologize.  He says don’t apologize you are getting us in tonight, we’ll wait outside until you are ready, 

Finally. 

I’m caught up. 

We start seating people.  In the order they arrived, as much as I can. 

This also pisses my bar customers off. 

By 7:03.  I have everyone.  And I mean everyone, including the 6 top I had no place for sat, except for the VIP’s.  I however, offered them a solution, but they chose to wait for the table they requested. 

A fun moment in the night was that as soon as the table the VIP’s requested was ready, the bell rings twice.  I’m checking in someone.  It rings twice again.  I continue.  It rings twice again.

I finally break a way, walk around the corner where I can see Chef pointing at the Chef’s table.  I chuckly to myself. 

They are seated at 7:30 just as I told them they would be.

The night continues.

I have lots of tables that are booked on tables that will never turn in time. 

The power of positive thinking. 

People walk in.  We check them in.  A table gets up.  We get them seated.  Everyone in the nick of time.

At around 7:50 I look at my host and say I think we are going to make it.  And she points at a table that I’ve yet to touch since I moved it. 

Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck. 

I hold my breath.

A table gets up and we get a table seated.

It’s 8:01.  I have no idea where we are going to put the next three 8:00 reservations.

Oh.  Yes.   The 6 top I sat at 7:00 is paying.  They were in and out in an hour.  I tell my host to help get it cleaned.  And then 2 seconds later another table leaves.  I move the regulars to the new empty table.  And at 8:10, everyone is seated but a 4 top that is late.  And a 2- top that is scheduled for 8:30. 

The 4 top never showed.   Bullet dodged

8:30 comes and goes.  No 2-top.  At 8:40 I tell the host to call them.  If they can’t be here by 8:45 we won’t be able to seat them.  She calls they are about 15 minutes away.  She delivers the news.  She hands the phone to me.  I confirm that news.

It’s 8:40.

The night is over. 

I’m exhausted. 

It’s 2:39.  I am not proofing this.  I’m posting, and am going to move to the couch and sit next to my sleeping boyfriend and drink the boulevardiers he left in the fridge for me.  I asked for 2.  He split 1.5 in to 2 glasses. 

Here’s to my weekend.  I’m off tomorrow.  My phone will be off if you need me. 

I have searched for a fun quote to start this post to no avail. As it’s late, I’m going to move on.

It is hot in Maine right now. The high was 92 when I got to work at 1:00. It only got hotter as the day went on. Everyone seemed wilted today. Nice. Kind. But wilted. Like they needed a glass of sweetened iced tea, and sit in the shade of an oak tree.

It’s grown hotter each day over the past week. Little to no rain. Just relentless sunshine.

This is not unusual for me.

I grew up with this weather.

Hot nights in high school, lying in my metal frame bed, with a foam cushion for a mattress, lying in front of the box fan in front of the window at the foot of the bed.

I would lie there for hours wishing to find sleep.

Always to no avail.

There was no blanket on my bed. The sheet was draped over me from the waist down and stuck to me like baby to its mother.

I would look out into the night. Occasionally a train would pass by. I could hear the horn as it approached out small town. I would feel the room shake as it moved through, car after car. Many days I would stand by the tracks and count the cars as they flew by. One. Two. Ten. Forty-five. Eventually the caboose would pass by. I always liked the caboose. I had a 45 record when I was 4 called the The Little Red Caboose. I would listen to it over and over on my little blue record player.

As I watched out the window, I would dream of the man I’d become. The future in front of me. At 15 the world seemed endless, hopeless, and full of life all at the same time. I knew little of what was out in the world past our BIG city of 350 people.

As I grew older, I always appreciated the late nights full of humidity and warmth. They were a time for me to think. Dream. Scheme. And Plan .

I would get into my little blue Nissan Sentra, with no A/C and I’d go for drives.

First in Kansas City, where I’d moved for a few months after college.

Then in Atlanta where I moved a six months later.

On these nights, the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

I would get in my car. I would always stop for gas, and then I’d get lost in my thoughts.

I’d drive thru neighborhoods that were familiar to me. I’d sometimes find myself in the chaos of midtown Atlanta at 3:00 in the morning, wandering street after street. Looking at the architecture. The scope of the city. I’d ALWAYS drive to downtown from the north so that I could see the skyline.

I would pinch myself and say this is not a CITY of 350 people. I had escaped. I’d gotten out. I had no idea what was in store for me in six months, six years, six decades, but I was not in small town Kentucky.

Anytime in my adult life, when I’ve lived somewhere warm, even years later, when I could afford a real car, with air conditioning, I’d sometimes get into my car, roll the windows down, put my arm out in the night air, with the radio off and get lost in my thoughts.

Many nights while doing this I solved the climate crisis, brought peace to the Middle East, and figured out what next to do with my life.

Eventually, I moved to a place where I didn’t need a car. NYC. A CITY of 8 million people. About as far as I could get from my CITY of 350 people.

I never realized before I moved there that the northern city of NYC could compare when it came to heat and humidity in the south. It took about 30 days into my first summer to realize it was different.

In NYC you can see the heat rising from the pavement of the sidewalk. You can smell the heat in the smell of hotdogs and pretzels cooking at a street cart. The smell of garbage as you passed down a busy side street. The overwhelming stench of piss that emanated from everywhere. Years later, I’d always know I was home when I got my first whiff of piss on the subway platform.

I no longer had a car, but I embraced the night. In the late 1990s, and early 2000’s I lived in the Financial District. Many a night I’d walk from a night at the theater, 50 or 60 blocks.

I go out with friends and wander home buzzed, enjoying the heat that sizzled from the sidewalk.

About 4 weeks into my first summer when I lived there I found myself in the square created by the World Trade Centers at 3:00 in the morning. I sat on a bench and took in my surroundings.

I sat there as a gentle breeze moved the warm air. There was no one in sight. Just me and what I’d eventually refer to as my mountain range. The tallest buildings in NYC.

Peace. Quiet. No different than if you were sitting at the base of the Rockies.

So many nights I sat there lost in thought.

When I left NYC to move north, I moved to an area without humidity. Without heat. I truly had escaped my hometown.

But Mother Nature has a way of reminding you of things.

And over the past week, the humidity has moved in. The heat has is here and increasing daily.

When I walked out of work tonight at 11:45, the air was Kentucky, Atlanta, NYC air. Thick. Heavy. Hot.

I got into my car and started it. The A/C was blowing from my trip to work 10.5 hours earlier. The music was blasting.

I turned both off, and I sat there.

I rolled down my window. In this case it was a literal rolling as I have crank windows in my little car.

I sat there and listened. It was so quiet.

I punch the GPS to take me home. After years of working in my little tourist town, I know the way home. But I like to know exactly when I will get there. To the minute. It’s also a 15 year old Garmin that I use. My staff makes fun of me. My boyfriend makes fun of me. My boss makes fun of me. I don’t care. I’m almost 60, get off my lawn and don’t tell me what to do.

I put the car in reverse and back out of my parking spot.

I drive to the end of the parking lot, go left and approach the road. I turn left. The GPS guiding me along the way.

The window is still down. My hand is waving in the air as I drive. I get to the police station and without thinking instead of turning right as I should, I go straight.

I drive. And I drive. Window down. Music off. Lost in thought.

I drive through the center of the little town where I work. Its midnight and there are a fair number of people moving about.

I drive straight, through the traffic light, on a country road, that is a short cut to the Route 1.

I drive. Obeying the speed limit. 35. 45. 25. 35 again.

Eventually I come to the end of the road. I turn right, headed back to another little town.

It’s now a little past midnight.

For the next hour, I drive, slowly toward home.

For the first time in what seems like weeks, I’m not thinking about what I need to do next.

I’m not thinking about all the things I forgot to do at work today.

I’m not thinking about the things I have to do when I get home. The bills I have to pay. The plants I have to water. The litter I have to scoop.

I drive. Back roads, watching the lights pass by.

Sometime it’s my elbow in the window; sometimes I do that thing where your hand waves up and down.

I come to a McDonald’s. I stop for a Soda Water. $1.08. It takes longer than I’d like but I’m in no hurry.

Eventually I stop for gas, not because I need it, but it’s the old habit coming through.

I wind my way down Route 1 toward the bigger town near me.

Just before I’d turn right to go home, I get on the highway. Window still down, arm still out the window and music still off.

I get off the highway and turn left. I drive by our friend’s house that have just put up a fence. It looks great.

I drive into town. I turn, drive, I turn, I drive. I eventually find myself on Commercial Street.

It’s now after 1:00.

It’s time to go home. ]

At this point I’m worried Adam will be worried about me as I didn’t text him to tell him I’d be late.

Our bedroom light is off when I get home.

I get out of the car and for the first time, since I left work, I realize how hot it really is. I’m covered in sweat. My forehead is beaded. I’m thirsty. I’m tired.

I really spent the time lost in thought. As I drove the last three miles home I thought, I should write about this.

And here it is.

This is the first time I’ve done this kind of drive in years.

It’s never hot NOR humid enough in Maine.

When I left work the thermometer on my card read 86. It moved to 93 on the highway, inland away from the coast. I changed often. 86. 91. 95. 88. 86. When I got home it was 82. The coolest I’d seen all night.

I’m exhausted at this point.

But at peace. And calm.

My mind has been turned off of the daily stuff and hyper focused on this post.

For an hour and a half tonight, I was in Kentucky. A 14 year old boy lost in thought as he looked through the fan at the night. I was a 22 year old young adult driving a Nissan Sentra in Atlanta. I was 26 design student driving around the backroads of Kentucy, in my jeepy thing. I was 30 year old teacher driving around Cincinnati, wondering around downtown. I was a 35 year old corporate employe, lost in thought at The World Trade Center. I was 40 year grad student driving home in San Diego.

And I realized as I drove, that my life isn’t perfect.

Far from perfect.

But I’m happy.

I love my boyfriend more and more every day.

I love my job more and more every day.

I’ve found a way to coach my staff that doesn’t cause me stress.

I love my cats.

I love my home.

I love my life.

I knew that before tonight.

But I was reminded of it tonight.

Be well.

It’s approaching 3:30 a.m. I’ve read thru this once, please excuse anything that I missed as far as typos and grammar. I’ll fix it in 10 years when I retire.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

For the past two years I’ve searched for a pen that I truly like to use at work. 

Sounds silly, but see yesterday’s post about spending money.

I found a pen that I thought I liked, had Adam order them for me, and they were fine, but he explained that I’d like a different tip on the same pen better.  He was right, so I have been using those pens for the past few months.

There is ONE server who uses my pens, but the rest use whatever they can grab at the bank

So last night I was sitting at the chef’s table accepting checkouts, and when only one server was left I realized that my pen was gone.

I accused the server in front of me, who has known forever about my pen obsession.  He assured me he had not taken my pen.

I put the disappearing pen on my notes sheet.  I needed to have Nancy Drew get to the bottom of the disappearing pen.

Tonight’s shift comes and goes with no pen. 

I’m sitting down at the end of the night and the last person sits down to do their cash out and I realize my pen is missing again.  I look up and it’s in HIS hand. 

I then get out my magnifying glass and pipe and start to interrogate him. 

He doesn’t even answer my first question.

He pulls last night’s pen out of his pocket and hands it to me.  As well as the one he already had in his hand. 

All is well in the world of Jeffery. 

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Tonight I was standing at the kitchen window, checking in to make sure all was well.

A server approached the window and asked the chef a question, that I could not hear.

He answered, and I could hear his answer.

So I asked the server and the chef what was going on…it’s kind of my job to know these things.

Table 37 had asked if we used LARD in our empanadas. Chef had told the server no. We do not. She had reappeared, with his new cookbook in hand to show him that for the empanadas in the cookbook one of the ingredients was lard.

He laughed out loud at this.

Then explained that the recipe in the book was NOT the recipe we followed in the restaurant.

He further explained that the recipe in his cookbook was his father’s family’s recipe, that he’d grown up with. They cooked their empanadas in Argentina in lard.

Here in America (emphasis on America) we bake them, with olive oil. He assured her there was no lard used for empanadas.

As she walked away, I told her that I would deliver the message to Table 37. They found it very funny that we used a different recipe, but explained that they don’t eat lard and so they were worried. I shared that the chef was impressed that they’d looked it up in the cookbook.

They had a great meal.

I checked in with them on their way out and they’d had a great time.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Tonight was another busy one for us.

Beat last week’s Friday number by 5 or 6 people.  Revenue was way higher than last week, meaning people were ordering more. 

Around 8:00 I checked in at the door to see how many more people we had to seat. 

The hosts commented that it was a smooth night.  I suggest that they not say that till everyone has left.  So that no one would yell at me tonight. 

One of the hosts continued, it’s not just that it was smooth.  It was REALLY smooth and EVERYONE was SOOOOO nice. 

She was not wrong.  EVERYONE was nice tonight.  And I do mean EVERYONE.  Every table that had a recook was more than generous with their praise and understanding. 

I connected with so many people tonight and they were all wonderful. 

Table 12 in the second turn who left a message today begging for a table for his anniversary.  He used the code word Acapulco, which is the word his wife said a year ago that I should use the next time she is being bitchy.  Of course I got them a table.  He was so grateful.

The lady at table F-1 who called at 3:00 looking for a table for 4.  I had one opening and it was at the chef’s table.  I explained that it was a high top but right in front of the kitchen so they’d get a bird’s eye view of the action.  She asked me NOT to seat her there because she thought it was horrible table.  I assured her she would love it.  She was ecstatic when I checked in with her after they’d gotten their drinks and ordered.  So happy to have been able to see the kitchen. 

It rained again for exactly 15 minutes from 4:35 to 4:50.  When they say it’s a 9% chance of rain it means not likely but not impossible.  My staff killed it.  They cleared all the tables in 2 seconds.  Then at 5:00 they all worked together to dry the tables, get them reset, and we opened the patio at 5:10.  AND.  NOT one person insisted on being sat before we opened, and they didn’t ask for drinks which was great as I needed my bar staff to help us reset. 

I had a lovely 15 minute conversation with a table by the fire pit (it was lit tonight, I came home smelling liking I’d been camping for a week), about where we source our wood, what kind it is (white, kiln dried oak) and how we store it.  I told them they should definitely pay extra for the kiln dried.  It was 100% worth it, which led to a conversation about the things people spend money on and what they don’t.  His wife said she’d rather eat out every day getting amazing food, than trade in her 2007 car.  I said that we hire someone to mow our lawn because I’d rather have a root canal than have to do it on my day (emphasis ONE day). 

There were 4 bros that stopped me to ask about the chef and our Argentine food.  (Turns out they are a friend of a friend, and work for an agency that might have deleted some text messages a few months ago.  I did not ask about that).  BUT.  I did get to geek out about the chef and the food and the grills and the Josper, and the wood and the service and the passion we all have at work.  I seriously could talk all day about our kitchen, food and staff.   I recommended a filet for seat 4 and a NY strip for seat 1. 

Around 5:15 Jen comes to me and says that I’d walked past table 11 and they wanted to say something to me, but I wasn’t paying attention and kept walking, so I perhaps should stop by.  I go over, and I have no fucking idea who they are.  We talk.  She asks about the pork chop or the skirt steak.  I love both a lot.  I said, she should get the skirt medium rare.  And she did and she loved it.  After I spoke to them, I went to the host stand to look at their reservation.  AHHHH.   I know who she is.  She’s the chicken parm lady.  I spoke to her family last fall.  They come up three or four times a year from New Jersey and have been eating at the restaurant since it opened.  We used to have chicken parm on the menu.  It was a FAVORITE of everyone.  Chef has an Italian food background as well.  She begged and pleaded last time she was in to get chicken parm.  So I made a guest note so I’d remember who she was.  After their dinner I stopped by to ask how she liked her skirt steak and to tell her I’d remembered after I walked a way that she was Chicken Parm Lady.  Her husband thought it was hysterical.  I told her I’d made that note in her profile when we spoke last.  I chatted with them for about 15 minutes.  About food.  Life.  She wants to move here.  Her husband does not.  She asked if I’d hire her as a server if she moved.  I asked if she could start on Wednesday.  She joked that she’d just move without him and I said, that I was going to take my leave before I had to put a note in their profile that said, I’d broken up the marriage on table 11 over Chicken Parm. 

We had lots of regulars in tonight. 

The older couple who have been eating with us for years.  Her husband had a stroke during Covid and they come and sit at the bar because the bartender takes great care of them and even cuts up his steak because his hands shake.

Our neighbor across the street was in with his family tonight. 

The owner of our payroll/accounting firm was in tonight with his family.

The couple from Mass who eat with us every 10 days or so were in with their daughter. 

The young couple who eat with us once a week and tip outrageously.  (Unfortunately they did NOT pay the check tonight). 

The owner of a local restaurant was in with her family. 

It was such a wonderful evening.  Only a couple of hiccups.  They were big ones, but I can’t write about them here. 

It was nice to be nice all night. 

Check in with me tomorrow to see if I jinxed myself. 

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

We go a bad survey tonight.

Seems the guest thought we didn’t do enough to celebrate his daughter’s one year wedding anniversary they were celebrating.

Two things:

First, I don’t know what they wanted? We gave them a card saying happy anniversary, thanking them for celebrating with us. Did they need a shout out? See my earlier post.

And.

It’s creepy that someone celebrated their one year anniversary with their parents. This is all still new. Have a quick dinner and go home and have sex.

I’m not sure having dinner with my wife’s parents would have been my idea of how to celebrate.

Meanwhile they gave us a 57 percent on the survey.

I’d hate to see what happens when she’s not picked to head the 3rd grade book drive.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Speaking of surveys.

Got this one tonight.

We sat outside – Part of the experience I’d offer is preparation of a simple fire pit. The draw of sitting outside is smelling the FIRE – duh! It adds to the senses and “ambiance” even anticipation of a tomahawk on the table! Are you feeling me here !?!? On certain nights I’d experiment with a steel guitar or simple acoustic background. Overall the chef has a solid menu and we look forward to hosting events in the future. Cheers! Christopher

Uh.

It rained tonight. Till about 30 minutes before we opened. Rain makes firewood wet. Which in turns makes it hard to light. So perhaps next timeschedule your reservation on a night when it doesn’t rain. On those night we WILL have a fire going.

As for music. You don’t understand our branding. You don’t understand it at all. We definitely would never host a steel guitar.

As for hosting events, I have no idea what you’re speaking of.

But okay.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Server edition!!!

I have been working a lot since I returned from my little working vacation. And luckily the restaurant is busy again. And when I say busy I mean busy. As you know the place I work isn’t fine dining. It’s what a friend of mine calls “slinging hash.” So to make money I have to turn my tables, give awesome service and hope like hell that people tip. Tonight the restaurant was a zoo. And it was like that at 5:00 when I started my shift. In the first 60 minutes of working tonight I sold over 500 dollars worth of food and drinks. (Edit: It’s 15 dollar cheeseburgers and 7 dollar beers) That’s as much as I sold in one whole shift in the days before I left for Maine. And to tell you how much I was running, I was selling alcohol two to one to food. I was at the bar more tonight than I was at my tables.

And I would love to tell you that I made a million bucks. But unfortunately the bad tippers were out tonight. I calculated that I was stiffed on almost 500 dollars in sales tonight. If you do the math that’s somewhere between 75 and 100 dollars that I should have walked home with. Not that I’m complaining. When you are in it for the volume, you still make a decent amount of money.

The real fun of the evening was looking up to discover my roommate and two of his friends waiting for a table in my section. I had been telling him he should stop in since I started work and he finally took me up on my offer. Of course he got there seconds before I had to do the thing I hate most about my job. A birthday shout out. Ugh. You have to get the dessert, get the candles, go to the table, make the guest stand on a chair and then announce their birthday to the restaurant. (You literally shout at the top of your lungs. HEY CAN I GET EVERYONE’S ATTENTION? THIS IS SAM AND TODAY IS HER BIRTHDAY. ON THE COUNT OF THREE CAN EVERYONE WISH HER A HAPPY BIRTHDAY. ONE! TWO! THREE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!)M You can’t imagine how much I hate this. It’s so bad that some servers just refuse to do it. (EDIT: Sometimes servers would pay me to do it for them). I figure if it’s the difference between 15 percent and 25 percent it’s worth it. Of course I never give the free birthday dessert. If you want me to announce your birthday, then you damn well have to order and pay for dessert. Other wise, I hope your mom sent you a card.

And now for the best questions I get asked as a server. Actually they are a series of questions, that I will follow with my answers.

1. Do you know where the bathroom is? No, today is my first day and they haven’t shown me where they are.

2. Do you have a bathroom? No, but Starbucks is just across the street. I’ll tell your server you’ll be gone for a few minutes.

3. Where are the toilets? In the bathroom.

Ah, the fun of serving the public.

Edit: At my current restaurant, when I started the servers would sometime sing. That no longer happens. We’ll happily serve you a dessert with a candle in it. That’s about it).