I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Adam enjoys reading my posts.

He’s actually been a great champion of encouraging this outlet.

About a month ago, he told me I needed to write extra posts so that I could share them when I am off and don’t sit down at my computer at the end of the night.

I finally discovered that I can schedule a post.

I probably already knew this, but now I know for sure!!!

Yay!!!

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

There are no exact guidelines. There are probably no guidelines at all. The only thing I can recommend at this stage is a sense of humor, an ability to see things in their ridiculous and absurd dimensions, to laugh at others and at ourselves.

VACLAV HAVEL

October 9, 2022.

A day that will live in infamy.  

As I type this it is almost 2:00 a.m.

On October 10, 2022.

I have worked the last 18 weeks with only one day off.  

In that time, I’ve worked 108 days.

Almost 1,200 hours.  

To say it’s been a long summer would be the understatement of the century.

I dare say, no one has counted down the days more than I.  

Believe me when I say, I was a little giddy at 4:25 today when we gathered for pre-shift.  

I gave no notes.  I thanked everyone for the hard work they put in.  I asked Brynne if she had a story she could share with us.  

We adjourned at 4:35.

We opened the doors at 4:50 as we always do and here is the telling of my day.

Sunday, October 9, 2022 started like almost every other Monday that has come before it.  

You read that correctly.

Monday. 

The day when everything bad happens.  

So, 

I was not surprised when Chef came to me and asked me if we had a place to put his friend Mr. Smith.  6 people at 5:00.  I moved things around told him yes, as long as we could get the table back by 7:00.  

I was not surprised when Chef came to me 4 minutes later and asked if we had room for 8 at 5:00 for Mr. Jones.  I moved things around, said a prayer that I hadn’t fucked myself and said, we’ll make it work.  

We open the doors and:

The first people in at 4:50 were 5 adults, 1 child, and a baby in a car seat.  

I say hello, and they say, yes, we’d like a table for 6 on the patio please.  

First.  

We closed our patio three weeks ago.  

Second.

It’s Sunday, of a holiday, 3-day weekend.  We have been booked since before I got to work today, save for a couple of 2 tops and the tables we save for last minute people we know.  The tables we save no longer exist, because the Joneses and the Smiths are coming in.

I explain that I don’t have a table for them.

They look at me like I have four heads and huff out.  

Next comes a lady in a wheelchair and her two elderly companions.  I have someone take them to their seats.  

The person is back in five seconds, because the lady doesn’t like her table.

I offer another table.

They are back and say that won’t work either.

Finally, we get them settled at table 21.  

We get the rest of the 5:00’s seated. 

As the 5:30’s start to arrive a woman walks in and says, We’d like a table for 4 please.  

I ask if they have a reservation.

She assures me that they do.

But I can’t find it.

I ask for a phone number. 

Can’t find it.

Ask for a name.

Can’t find it.

It is quickly becoming my problem to solve; except I don’t have a way to solve it.  

In truth, we have more people on the books tonight, than last night.

I explain that there is nothing I can do, apologize and they leave.

They are followed by a woman and a man who approach the host stand, telling me they are 6.  I ask if they have a reservation.  

They don’t answer the question.

Instead, they say, we’ve been calling all day, but no one has answered. Therefore, it’s not their fault that they don’t have a reservation, and I need to fix the problem.

I apologize again and say, there is nothing I can do.  

They leave.  I see them outside speaking with their friends and I see a couple turn and march toward the restaurant with intensity in their step.

They march in, and demand a table.  Explaining once again, that it is my fault as they have been calling for days, to no avail. 

I love this line, because I AM THE PHONE guy.  If you call and leave a message, it’s me who gets it.  It’s me who returns the call.  It’s me who books the reservations.  

They continue to demand a table.  

I say, sorry, no can do.  I do offer them a table at 8:00, as the only resort.  They take it. 

Next comes the regular guest that I like the least.  The absolute least of anyone who comes to our restaurant.  I like her less that the guy who screamed about the stone in his spinach.  I like her less than the French Canadian who yelled at me about their 12-top reservation.  I like her less than the person who stole my bicycle when I was 10. 

She is the worst of the worst.

She goes around town, shitting on all the restaurants.

How do we know this?

 Because it’s a small fucking town.  

Two weeks ago, she was at a restaurant across town, talking shit about our restaurant, about me, about the food, the service etc.  And guess who she was walking to?  Chef’s best friend, who just nodded and smiled.  

Then she calls and wants favors.  

She had a reservation for 4 tonight at 7:15.

But she arrived at 6:45. 

She was told she would be seated at 7:15.

She sees the people at the table that will be hers leave, and comes and tells me she is going to head on over.

The table is dirty.  

And.  

I just sat her server 2 tables.

She has to wait.

I say to her, you are going to have to wait till 7:15.

And she gets pissy and DEMANDS to know why.

Seriously, can this Monday be over already.

Fast forward 30 minutes.

A man walks into the lobby and wants to know if he can sit at the bar.  

I explain that unfortunately, we have reservations coming in for the bar and it will be fully booked in about 15 minutes.

He then asks if he can stand behind the bar and have a drink.

And I explain that no, he can’t stand and have a drink.

He then very angrily says, I’D LIKE  TO SPEAK WITH A MANAGER!!!

I say great.  I’ll be right back.

And I take the I-pad.  And I circle the dining room.

I step back into the lobby and say, Hi.  I’m Jeff, I’m the general manager.  How can I help you?

I seriously did this. Ask Jen?

He continues.

He explains that they have been rushed through their entire meal.  And they wanted to have another drink but the server just dropped the check.  And they wanted to move to the bar to have another drink but now they are being told it doesn’t matter that they spent $200, they have to leave.

I apologize about the situation, but they can’t sit at the bar.  He asks if they can go back to their table and I say, of course.

And they do.

And I look at the floor plan.

They have been in the restaurant since 5:15. It’s 7:30.  They have not been rushed at all.

Everyone came early tonight.  Which is great when tables are moving.  But tables weren’t turning.  We sat a few people late, but all except 1 reservation was in by 8:10.

The last reservation arrived at 8:35 for their 8:30 reservation.  They were seated at the bar.  

It’s 8:35 and my last reservation of my long, long, long summer is seated.

I check on people in the dining room.

I hang out at the host stand.

People are starting to leave.

Around 9:00 the bartender comes to me to say that the couple at the bar had order bubbles.  He had poured it. They enjoyed it.  He moved on.  Now they have called him over to say that it was too sweet for their palette and didn’t want it.  

Here’s the thing with wine. 

The only way you can send back a bottle of wine, is if the wine is corked.  Yes, it happens.  We will gladly get you another bottle and everything is good.

But.

You don’t get to say this is not to my liking and I don’t want it any more.

The bartender says that he told them this.  They are keeping it.  

Fast forward to 9:30. 

The lead food runner comes to me at the host stand and asks if I want to keep all 6 food runners as they only have 1 ticket left.  

I say to keep three of them as we have a 4 top to go and that table has a large format steak.  

She explains further, that it’s actually the couple at the bar.  They have sent their main course back as they have decided they want to wait about 30 minutes before they eat.  

Seriously.

I send all but 2 of them home.

Around 9:45 the food for the couple at the bar is taken back out.    

The restaurant is emptying quickly.  

My last night, before 2 days off is approaching quickly.

The heat lights in the kitchen are turned off.

Side work is happening.  People are leaving.

I grab my computer, and take my place at the chef’s table. 

It’s approaching 10:00.

By 10:15 everyone in the restaurant is gone.

Except.

For the couple at the bar.

All of the staff is waiting. 

Unfortunately, the couple is seated right behind the chef’s table and our chef at the end of a long night, will often not come out if he doesn’t want to run into people.

He makes this choice tonight.

He lets me know he is leaving from the kitchen window.  

I hear the bartender clear the couple’s dishes.  I hear him ask about dessert.  They decline. 

I send word to the pastry chef that we are done with desserts for the night.

And they sit.

And they sit.

And they sit.

And they sit.

And they sit….

And I’m okay.  This happens.  

Of course it’s happening on the last night before 2 days off but

The end is in sight.  

It’s now 10:45.  

I’m sitting at the chef’s table, checking time punches and doing tips as it’s the end of the pay cycle and payroll will be processed tomorrow.  

And I hear the man say, Excuse me, are you the owner or a manager?

I turn and say excuse me?

He says, Are you the owner or a manager?

And I stand up, take the 1.5 steps to the bar and say, yes, I am a manager.

And he begins.

He explains, that they have been in town for two days and have kept hearing great things about the restaurant.  They were in a store yesterday and saw the Chef’s cookbook and bought it and continued to hear about how great the restaurant was.  

I’m hoping against hope about where the conversation is going…

He say he tried to make a reservation yesterday but we were booked.  

He called and called and called and called and called but to no avail.  

He finally got through last night and the only table we had was tonight for 2 seats at the bar, and so they booked them.

He says,  I booked the seats at the bar for tonight and we have to say that we are NOT pleased with the experience.

And what happens next can only be describes as surreal.

I feel my soul leave my body.  I am now watching the events unfold as if I’m a third party observing.  I am listening as I see my 4 servers standing at the other chef’s table listening as they do their cashouts.  I observe the bartenders across the way listening as they finish cleaning.  Everyone is listening as he continues.  

They arrived at the bar for their reservation and didn’t know they would be rushed out.

They feel as if the bartenders haven’t wanted them there since they were the last table.  

They order champagne and it wasn’t good.  The wife pipes in, it wasn’t cold.

I think to myself, you didn’t like it or it wasn’t cold?  Two different things.

They say, that they asked to finish their champagne before their meat arrived, but it arrived in five minutes.  At these prices they should not be rushed.  They sent it back and when it arrived the meats they’d ordered rare, were all well done. 

I’m still floating above the experience, thinking to myself.  Of course, this is happening.  Of course, it is.  How else would the summer of hell end.  It has to end this way.  It’s a horror movie where Jason or Michael won’t die.  It’s the Terminator who keeps coming back for more.  It’s the zombie who just keeps moving forward.  

And here it is.

Almost 11:00 on the last day of my very bad no good summer,  and I’m being scolded for a bad experience.

They continue.

He says, I own a restaurant and I’d want to know if people were having an unpleasurable experiences.

Of course he is in the industry.

(One of the servers listening said he almost yelled out BINGO, when he heard this, as this is the ultimate asshole bingo play),

Here is the thing.  

I am exhausted.  

I’m worn out.

I’m tired.

I’m thinking to myself as I see this unfolding.

I can either tell them to fuck off.

Or I can just be passive. 

I don’t have the energy for a confrontation.

So, I say I appreciate you letting us know about your experience.  We appreciate all feedback.  I will take this information to the chef/owner when we meet this week. 

What I didn’t expect was for them to want the aggression.

The man gets upset and says, as a business owner, I’d expect my manager to take this a little more seriously.   

The wife echos what he says, and repeats him.    

I just keep saying, I appreciate your comments.  I’ll discuss it with chef.  

Finally, I’m dismissed.  I turn.  Sit down.  And I put my hands together, like I’m praying and think to myself.  

What the fuck was this?

They get up and start to leave.

I have the food runner that is left follow them out to lock the doors.  It’s 11:00.

Jen, a server heads to the lobby as well.

She and Cayden are back and they let me know that couple knocked the toothpicks and container off the host stand because they were angry.

Then the bartenders let me know they also took their credit card slip.  So no tip.    I’m convinced they did this on purpose.

I have everyone assure me that they are gone.  That the doors are locked.  

And then.

I slam my hand down on the table as hard as I can and scream…as loudly as I can, “YOU CAN’T MAKE THIS SHIT UP? IS THERE ANY OTHER WAY THAT THIS FUCKING SUMMER COULD HAVE COME TO A GODDAMN END.”  

Then I stand up and scream even louder —  SHOTS FOR EVERYONE!!!

Everyone cheers.

The bartenders pour drinks for all of us.  

And we sit around for the next hour commiserating about life in the service industry.  

I was shaking I was so upset.  

Seriously though.

How fucked up is it, that the very last table, of the very last night, of the very last day, of the very last week, that we are open 6 days has to say, 

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I have 24 more hours till I get my first two-day off since June.

I did 18 weeks of 6-day work weeks.  

Jeffery is TIRED.

We have 10 more weeks until my restaurant closes for a 3 week break for Xmas.  

And Adam and I have 11 more weeks till we leave for a 10-day trek to Argentina for a “research” trip, where we will explore all thing culinary in Buenos Aires.

And for those interested, I am going to sing Don’t Cry for Me Argentina from the balcony of the Casa Rosado with my arms in the air. 

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

The last two nights I’ve been on the floor.

I have had a host.

We’ve also been short staffed, so I’ve forced myself away from the door.  

I have different experiences on the door than when I’m on the floor.  

I’m standing at the POS at the wait station, when I see table #31 call a server over.  It’s not their server.  They speak for about 12 seconds and then server turns and walks toward me.

I know it’s not their server, so I ask her what they needed. 

She says, they have asked for bread.

I should mention that their server is also standing at the POS.  Putting in their order.  

They have given him about 37 seconds from the time he said he’d bring them bread till the time, they felt like they’d waited too long for bread.

They were in need of something the entire 48 minutes they were in the restaurant.  

In and out.

But always in need.

They’d really be happier at a drive thru.  

Service on demand.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Tonight, I was at the door.  

Once again, while my host was peeing.  

A woman walks in, I greet her.  Take her name and tell her that her table will be ready soon.

As she turns, I see what I think is an amazing tattoo on her back of a very detailed zebra.  

I start to say something and then realize it’s a print on a shirt that is near to her skin tone of a zebra.

I tell her what I thought I saw.  

And she assures me that she is never going to be so cool as to have a zebra tattoo on her back.

Thing is, she really did look like someone who’d have cool tattoos.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Was standing at the host stand last night, while my host for the evening was peeing.  

A couple come out from the restaurant into the lobby.  They had been sitting at the bar.

The woman looks at me and says, how long have you been here.

I say almost a year, not sure where this is going.  

She says, I thought so, you are so much nicer than the guy who was here last summer.  

I thank her for the compliment.

Maybe they don’t recognize me because I’ve lost weight.

But I’m pretty sure I WAS the guy here last summer.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Hi all.  

Remember me?

I have been missing in action.

On Tuesday, Adam and I were supposed to go north to spend the night with friends.  But we woke up to the news that one of the friends we were visiting was not feeling well.

So, we stayed home.

And got the booster of the monkey pox vaccine instead.  

And.

That motherfucker kicked my ass.

I have had the flu shot for years.

I have four doses of the Covid vaccine.

I have had the shingles vaccine.

I have had the polio vaccine.

I have had all the vaccines.

And I’ve never had such a reaction as to this shot.

I woke up feeling crappy on Wednesday, like I hadn’t slept well.  Which I attributed to the chicken pot pie, and wine that I over consumed the night before.

Suffered through Wednesday.

Then Thursday came along and I really felt like shit.

I got to work, had some coffee and started feeling better.

Got through the shift and felt like I’d been hit with a truck.

Came home, thinking I sure hope this isn’t COVID.

The home test said it was not.

Also, I’ve had it at least once, and I think twice and it’s not how I felt either time.  

Friday, was the worst. 

I slugged through work.  It helped that we were short staffed and I didn’t have time to complain.

On both Thursday and Friday night, when I got home, and just collapsed on the couch.  I sat there for an hour, not really watching TV or anything.  Just breathing.  

Today I woke up, and felt sluggish but better.

And by the time I got home I was amazing.

I have energy.

I have the ability to do more than sit on the couch.

And now you have it.

A new post.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

It’s 2:45.

I got home two hours ago.

I’m annoyed about work tonight.

In away I’m not sure I can speak about.

It’s why I’m still awake at 3:00.

Tonight was offensive.

We hosted an event.

And it was offensive.

So offensive that the event planner apologized to me, by making excuses about the content.

I learn more and more about event planning every time I do it.

Don’t say gay!!!

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

The phone rings.  I answer.

They say, how long is the wait?

I explain that we don’t run a wait. 

They say, so if I walk in right now, how long will I have to wait?

I explain that we don’t run a wait, we don’t keep a list.  We either have a table for you or we don’t.

This confuses everyone, not just the person on the phone. 

So I can’t just come down there and wait.

You can come wait, but I can’t guarantee I’ll have a table for you before we close.  

So, you don’t have any more open tables tonight?

I can’t answer this question, as I don’t know how many people are in their party.  If it’s 2 people I’ll have a table open in about 30 minutes.  If it’s ten people, you’d have to try again tomorrow.

I ask him all the important question.    

How many are in you party?  

He replies five.

I start looking and moving things around.

I let him know that I would have room for 5 people around 7:30 and ask if he’d like to make a reservation.  

He does.  

I book the table for him and all is well.

He shows up around 7:25 with his friends.  

And the best part.  

They were maybe 17/18 year’s old at best.  

Very well behaved.  Ordered well.  Tipped the server well.

Their parents should be proud.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I get a call around 7:30.  

I answer.

It’s a woman looking for a reservation for 6 people on Sunday.

I give her the options and she says, great.  I’ll take it.  

I ask for her phone number, area code first and start the process.

I’m at the point of confirming when she asks if there is a better time on Saturday.

I can see people walking toward the door and the phone is ringing.

I don’t have time to look at 12 different days for reservations. 

She tells me to answer the phone.

I mute the phone, greet the guests, get them seated. 

She is gone when I get back to the phone. 

She calls back about 15 minutes later.

She tells me she is ready to book.

I get her phone number and am about to confirm, when she stops me and says, “I have a gift card for XYZ resort collection, I assume that I can use that at your restaurant.”

I assure her that she absolutely can NOT use that card at my restaurant.  We are two completely different companies.

This upsets her, and she stops the reservation, and says she’ll have to think about it.

And she hangs ups.

Here is the thing.

I don’t think we are in the yellow pages.

Unless she called information at 411, she must have had access to he internet to find our phone number.

Which means, she could have looked up the company on the gift card.  

Their website lists their restaurants.  We are not on said list.  

In fact, our guests complain that at this particular company’s hotels, we are not listed as a restaurant in town at all, even though we are pretty awesome.  

Needless to say, she did not need to call to ask about her gift card.