I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Hello, thank you for calling the restaurant, how may I help you?

I hear…

Hello?  

Hello?

Hello?

Is this the machine or is this a real human?

I say, I think I’m a real human.

They say thank god and go on to make a reservation.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

″‘Should I put this speck down? . . .’ Horton thought with alarm. ‘If I do, these small persons may come to great harm. I *can’t* put it down. And I *won’t!* After all A person’s a person. No matter how small.‘” 

Tonight, was a fun one. 

I hardly know where to start.

First, it was a weird night to begin with.  A weird, full moon energy that many people commented on. 

However, the night had gone quiet smoothly.  And we were much busier than we thought based on numbers at the start of the shift.  

We were all in at 8:35. Only 9 open menus.  We were winding down.  

I was standing in the lobby when a server comes to let me know a table on the patio has found sand in his creamed spinach and has chipped a tooth.  

Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.  

First, how the hell is there sand in the creamed spinach?

Second, how does one crack a tooth on a grain of sand?

Third, why does my night always go to shit at 8:30?

I head to the patio.  

I approach the table.

You always play over in your head as you approach the table how you are going to start.  What’s your approach.  How will you turn the scenario around.  

I approach and say, I understand there was a piece of sand in your spinach.

I look at the table.  Everyone is finished.  The porterhouse has been picked clean.  The crock of spinach is completely empty.  There is a small spoonful of spinach on a side plate.  

The man starts, there was a rock in my spinach and I could have chipped my tooth.  I bit down on it and it startled me.  

This is the first of my discrepancy, of many, I’m going to see.  

Sand?  Or a rock?  Did my server miss speak?  

I say, I’m sorry to hear that.  I can’t imagine how a rock or sand got into a crock of creamed spinach.

I’ll add at this point that playing this over in my head immediately afterwards, I heard a server’s voice in my head say, were you being an asshole?  And I thought to myself I might have been more open to fixing the problem and a little less condescending…but as my friend Laura said to me tonight, to what end?  They were looking for a something and you clearly weren’t going to give it to them. 

The man looks at me and say, I can’t imagine either, but I thought you should know about it and that I almost chipped my tooth.  

I apologize and then he points to a very, very, very, very, very, very small object on his app plate.  He picks it up.  It’s less than a .05 millimeters thick.  He says, this is it.  

The wife interjects to tell me that she has taken photos of it and blown it up and it is definitely a rock and her husband chipped his tooth on it.  

I say once again, I can’t imagine how that happened but I’ll definitely discuss it with our chef.

They aren’t letting it go.  They insist that I look at it, and he places it in my hand.

Once again, it was tiny.  VERY.  Tiny.  I look at it and say, I’m not sure it’s a rock but that I’m sorry they found it in their spinach.

He once again repeats that he bit down on it, and could have broken his tooth.  

I say to them, if I had to guess, it is the salt we sprinkle on top before we send out the spinach. 

He assures me it’s not salt. 

I put the object down on the plate and start to pick up the plate saying, I’m going to take this inside to chef to get to the bottom of this.  I grasp the plate and the woman screams at me, YOU AREN’T TAKING THIS ANYWHERE and tries to snatch the plate from my hand.

What happens next could only be called a tug of war over a yellow app plate.  I wrench it from her hand, and say, I’m going to show it to chef and see what he thinks.  

I probably could have been more gentle but things are so surreal at this point, I’m not even sure what’s happening.  

And let me repeat.  It’s a tiny.  Tiny.  Tiny.  Piece of something.  On a small yellow plate.  

I head off to the kitchen with them shouting as I leave, come back here you can’t take that away it’s evidence.  

Of course, as I walk, I realize that the object is nowhere to be found because it was a tiny, tiny, tiny speck of something.  

I get to the kitchen, show chef the plate, he looks at it and says, let me guess the spinach crock was empty.  I assure him it was.  

He continues, there is no way a rock could have been in the spinach.  It comes to us washed.  We wash it before we cook it.  It was probably salt.  

He puts the salt mixture we have in a ramekin and I look at it.  It’s exactly what was on the plate.  A tiny piece of salt.  And I’m sure if you bit down on it, the wrong way, it could grind your teeth.

I take the plate and ramekin back to the table and say, chef is about 99.99% sure what was on the plate was salt.  

Except at this point, things are ugly.

The man turns to me and says, you are an ass.  You should be ashamed of yourself, for taking that plate from us.  It was evidence and you were just trying to cover up what happened.  You are an embarrassment to the restaurant, to yourself and you should be ashamed to call yourself a manager.  You are worried about your liability. 

At this point I have no fucks to give.

I don’t remember my first response, but I will say that I never lose my cool in these exchanges.  They don’t make me mad, they upset me but don’t make me mad.  It’s never fun to be called names but I just never go to mad. 

At one point, I say, I’m sorry you feel that way, I’m not sure what you mean by evidence.  

The wife says, it was evidence to show what my husband chipped his tooth on.  

I say, but he didn’t chip his tooth.  If he had chipped his tooth, we’d been having a very different conversation.

He says, but I could’ve. 

I say, but you didn’t.

The wife looks at me and says it doesn’t matter anyway we have photos for proof.  

I say proof of what?  

He repeats that he might have chipped his tooth and we’ll be hearing from his attorney.  I’m going to be very sorry that I took that plate off the table.  It was evidence.  And I’m just trying to protect the restaurant from out liability.  

I say, that is fine but I don’t know what we are liable for.

The wife says, for his chipped tooth.

I say, but he didn’t chip his tooth.  

I notice at this point that people are watching the exchange.

The man says but I could’ve. 

But you didn’t chip your tooth.  

At this point is has become comical. 

I guess he could read this on my face because he says you’re enjoying this aren’t you.  

At this point to be honest I am.  It’s become so outlandish that I can’t even make sense of it.

He goes on to call me an ass.  Tell me that he hopes that I spend many sleepless nights thinking about this. He calls me an ass again.  That I’m an embarrassment to the restaurant.  That I have no business working in the public and that I’m basically a bad person.

I look at him and say, do you enjoying doing this?

He says, enjoy doing what?

I say, going to nice restaurants and creating a scene.  

He barely lets me finish before he says that this is not a nice restaurant.

This is their third time here and it’s been a disaster every time.

I seriously said, then why do you keep coming back?

He continues, every time we come here the steak has to be recooked.  He did ask to have his steak cooked more, but per my post last week, chef has a good percentage when it comes to returns.  

He continues, the last time we came the salmon we ordered for my son was so rare it almost gave him salmonella.

I ask him what almost salmonella was?  You either have salmonella or you don’t.  I don’t bring up that you can eat salmon, rare, even raw.  

His wife says he didn’t say salmonella, he said it was undercooked.  

The man interrupts and says it wasn’t salmon it was chicken.  The chicken was undercooked and almost gave him salmonella.  At least it would have if he had eaten. 

I say to them both, are you even listening to yourselves?  Chipped tooth.  No chipped tooth?  Raw salmon? Raw chicken?  Salmonella?  No salmonella?  You need to get your stories straight before you start.   And if the restaurant really is so bad you might not want to come back.  

He looks at me like he has had a revelation and says, that’s it, we are never coming back!!!

I say, great.  I think that would be best for all parties involved. 

He tells me he is done with me and that I need to get the fuck away from the table.  

I start to say something, and he says get the fuck away from my table.

I say, of course, have a nice evening.  

He says, you fucking have a nice evening.

I leave.

I go inside, and chef asks what happened.

I don’t get mad.  But these exchanges are like vampires sucking all soul out of your being.  

I’m exhausted now.  

I get heated in the kitchen. 

I give chef the 30 second version.  

His first statement is to make sure they pay their bill.  Then he says, great, we don’t need people like that coming here.  Sometimes it’s best for everyone to just say no.  

I send word to the server to make sure they pay their full bill.  

I felt like shit for the rest of the ending.  

I do admit that I could have handled it better.  But to quote Laura, to what end?  They wanted something we were never going to give them.  What they wanted, I still have no idea.  

They ate everything.  They left clean plates.  They didn’t chip their tooth.  It was a piece of salt.  

The server was vague about what they said after I came back inside.

They did pay their check.  They stayed for a while, because as they told the server they needed to calm down.    Their 9-year-old son, who this played out in front, of also had to cool down, he told the server.  

They did eventually ask to speak to chef.  

He looked at me like I was crazy.

I gave him his options.

I could go back out and make things worse.  I could tell them he was busy.  I could give them his email and phone number.

He went with option 2 and 3.

In truth, the kitchen had just put out their last plate, and he was still cleaning his station.  So I sent word to the server to tell them he’d be available around 10:00, 45 minutes from now.  And gave them his email and the restaurant phone number.  

Chef did go out at 10:00 but they were gone.  

I went and sat in the lobby.  Which I never do.  Hoping to be ignored by everyone.  

Alas, that was not to be.

The rest of my night was filled with people leaving, thanking me for such a great time.  Thanking me for getting them in when we were booked.  Thanking me for being so hospitable.  Thanking me for the best meal they had on their whole vacation.  

I guess I am an embarrassment to the restaurant.