I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Two things I’ve discovered in the past week.

First I have no more fucks to give.

What does that mean?

We have amazing guests.  We have people who eat at our restaurant once a week, twice a week, three times a week.

They are wonderful, understanding and kind.

They are the people who pay our bills. 

Then we have people I call one and done. 

They are from North Dakota.  They come here on vacation.  They eat here once, because the owner of their air bnb told them to. 

But here’s the deal. 

They are the people who wouldn’t be pleased if we were a 5-star Michelin restaurant.  They can’t be pleased.  They want dinner for free.

They are the people who make our lives difficult. 

And I have no fucks to give these people.

So you don’t get to yell at me when you forget your credit card.  You don’t get to yell at me when I say you can’t bring your wine into the restaurant.  You don’t get to beat me up.  

PERIOD!!!

We are going to focus on pleasing the 99% of people who are awesome and you can go back to South Dakota and tell people how horrible we were and it doesn’t matter because none of them are coming to Maine anyway.

Meanwhile, I continue to have a million calls every day. 

I no longer listen to the messages. 

I listen long enough to get the name and number.

After that I don’t care. 

I don’t care that you eat here once a year.  I don’t care that you live on Marshall Point Road.  I don’t care that your grandmother is turning 86. I don’t care that you are friends with the barista at the coffee shop, where you mechanic gets his muffin. 

Name. 

Number.

I have to ask you about all the other information when I call anyway. 

Two.  New.  Things.