I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Table #37.

Ahhhhh.

Table #37.

8 women.  They were in and out all night.  Going to the parking lot to smoke.  Sometimes with their cocktail.  Sometimes not. 

Around 7:30 all but 4 of them leave. 

The 4 remaining gather in the bar area. 

One of them appears to ask about the cocktail tables by the bar.

It takes the host and myself about 45 minutes to realize she’s referring to the Chef’s tables. 

The host says that we have reservations on those tables. 

The woman points out that there are two tables.  I say, yes, but you can’t sit there for just drinks. 

She’s annoyed. 

I then notice that they’ve gathered at the rail where we store the extra bar stools we used to cap the chef’s table. 

Their server comes by and says do you want me to tell them they can’t sit there.

I say, if you want, why don’t you suggest they go out to the outside bar and they can get cocktails and sit by the fire. 

She does this.  They leave through the back door.

15 minutes later one of the women appears at the host stand. 

She says, I don’t understand why we couldn’t sit in the bar area and have drinks.  There are chairs there, surely they are for sitting.  I explain that it’s where we keep the extra chairs for the bar. 

That’s stupid she says.  She holding a beer and says a few more things and then walks into the bar. 

There’s a woman who’s just exited the restaurant watching the woman, you can tell she is sympathizing with us as the woman is crazy. 

I say to the host, follow her and see what she’s  up to.

The woman in the lobby laughs. 

The host follows her and comes back to say she has seated herself at the bar. 

I go into the bar, walk up to the woman and say, I’m sorry but you can’t sit here. 

She replies that she’s going to have a drink and won’t be long. 

I tell her I’m sorry but we have a reservation here and she needs to get up.

She then says she’s looking for something, she searches thru her purse, finds her lipstick, puts it on.

I say, I’m sorry; I need you to get up.

She turns around looks at me and says, we are never coming back here and spending $800 dollars again. 

I say, I’m sorry to hear that, but you have a good day now. 

She gets up and moves to the end of the bar near stool #1. 

I follow her and say, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to ask you to move to away from the bar.  You need to move to the host area. 

She huffs and leaves, walking out the front door with her pint glass in her hand.

I don’t see her again. 

I go by the bar about 30 minutes later and the guy sitting at stool #1, says hello.  He’s there with his wife, and parents, they are very, very, regulars. 

I chat with them and apologize for the interaction they had to witness.

He says, when that happened I turned to my family and said, Jeff has always been nothing but gracious and kind with us, but I wonder if he has a side we haven’t seen when he is pushed. 

I chuckle and say absolutely.

I tell them about being told I’m a fucking bad manager.

He says, you should write these stories down and publish a book when you retire.

I laugh to myself. 

Yes.  Why yes I should.