I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

The phone rings, I answer and a man on the other end of the line says, Hi, I’d like to make a reservation please.

I ask for the date and time.

He says, tomorrow at 6:00, for 4 people.  

I say great, can I get your phone number starting with the area code.

He says, 555-5555.

I realize that he has not given me the area code.

I stop and say, can I get the area code please?

And he gets angry and says, it’s 207, I told you I live here.

Well honey.

My little machine that I use requires me to put the area code in, whether you live here or not.

And.

I live here too, and my area code is not 207.  

In fact, as it turns out the friends you are dining with tomorrow, live here as well, and their area code is NOT 207.  

And it really doesn’t cost you anything to be nice.

PS.  After you hung up, I remember who you are.  You were the very nice party that on Saturday night, one of the busiest night of the fall/winter, stayed almost 3 hours at the bar when you were told when I seated you that I needed the chairs back by 7:15. I made it work for me, but the bartenders didn’t appreciate losing three 2-tops I pushed into the dining room in order to accommodate them.  

I’d like to speak with the manager!!!

I answer the phone today, and a woman on the other end of the line wants to know if she needs to make reservations to come in.

As always, I said, they are not required but even on slower nights we recommend them, as there is no guarantee that you’ll be able to just walk in.  

I ask her if she’d like to make a reservation.

She says, yes.

For how many?

Two people she says.

I follow up with, would you prefer a table, or seats at the bar.

She replies, I’ll wait and decide that when I get there.  

???????

I tell her I missed what she said.

She repeats, we’ve not been to your restaurant, we’ll decide where we want to sit when we get there.

I explain that that can’t happen.

She immediately wants to know why not.

I gently try to explain that it takes a bit of planning for the evening, so we must know where everyone is going to be seated.

She doesn’t like this, but chooses a table.

I make the reservation.

Two people tonight, 6:30, in the dining room.  

All set!

She called and cancelled at 6:15 tonight. 

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

When I got to work today, Chef had sent me a copy of this post from our Facebook page. 

Come join us for December’s book club! We are reading The Last Thing He Told me by Laura Dave. We will meet at 6pm. Parking is limited so grab a pal and carpool.

Registration will be limited due to the small size of the restaurant so please RSVP as soon as possible. Registration will close 12/8. If there is a large enough interest, we will move from the restaurant to a member’s home (still with delicious food- rest assured!)

Contact _______ with any questions and to RSVP! You can dm us to RSVP, too! 

Seriously.

There is no date, so we have no idea when to expect them, or how many to expect.  

Also, we really aren’t the book club sort of restaurant.  But then again, I’d ask what restaurant wants a group to come sit for three hours and discuss a book.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Server Edition!!!

Tonight around 11:30 I was working trying to get through the end of the night.  I picked up money for a check.  Went to the wait station and counted out the change, put the money back in my pocket, dropped off the change and went to the bar to pick up drinks.  When I got to the bar, I did what I often do and put my hand in my pocket.  And my money was not there.  I panicked.  I went running toward the wait station and as I turned to go in someone yelled my name.  I looked back and there was a trail of money all over the floor.  Several of us picked up the money as quickly as we could.  Picture one of those machines that’s blowing the money around and you are grabbing it as fast as you can.

I get all the money back in my pocket and go back to work.  About 30 seconds later I panic.  What if somehow we missed a twenty dollar bill, or a fifty or even worse a hundred.  Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.

I realized there was nothing I could do about it.  I just had to finish my shift and pray for the best.

Just a note to all you non-restaurant people out there.  Most waiters carry their banks in their pockets.  Not just their tips but all the revenue they’ve collected for the evening.  At the end of the night they run a report.  The report totals up all your sales, from that amount it subtracts your credit card payments and then you get a total due.  You give the restaurant it’s cut and what ever is left is yours to keep.  If by chance you lose your bank you are responsible for it.  So let’s say I hadn’t found my money tonight.  I would have had to cough up all the money I owed out of my own pocket.  To put this in perspective as to how much money we are talking about.  I’ve had to pay as little as a couple of hundred dollars.  And one night I had over 2300 dollars in my pocket.  It’s a little scary when you think about it.

So as soon as I ran my report.  Before I’d even finished my side work or gone to the office where everyone else was doing their cashout, I counted my money.   I owed the restaurant 900 dollars even.  I had 927 dollars in my pocket.  I counted again.  And again.  And again.  And again.

FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK. FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.

I counted one last time and realized that basically my whole night had been a waste of time.

I went in to the cash out office, pulled out a chair, plopped down in it and started doing my paperwork.  As I was doing it I told everyone in the office what had happened.  They were all very compassionate.  Not compassionate enough to offer me money, but nice all the same.  So I’m sitting there counting my money again and Melissa says, did you drop some money on the floor.  I look down and there’s about 50 bucks on the floor.  I assume in my despair I’d dropped it.  I count it all out again and now I have 975 dollars.  Perhaps I’m just stupid.  I count again.  And yep.  It’s 975.  So I made 75 dollars not 27.  Big fucking deal.  I stand up to go turn in my money and Nick, my fellow cocktailer says to me, “Yo fucktard.  You dropped your money on the floor again.”  I pick up the money and what do you know.  I now have 1045.  What the fuck.

And then I realize what has happend.

I’ve told you guys a lot about my restaurant.  Some of you by now even know where I work.  My restaurant is big.  There are 130 servers on the schedule.  With so many people and so many shifts and so much stuff to cover most of the time their is very little attention paid to our uniforms.   I should also say that as a rule, I’ve never met a waiter who has a clean uniform every day.  A clean shirt maybe.  But never new pants every single day.  Some of the people I work with wear the same pants for weeks at a time without washing them.  I know it sounds gross, but in the big scheme of things that would gross you out a lot less than some of the other things I could tell you about.  I have a pair of pants that I wear to work that I’ve had since I started.  They fit me better than most of my other pants so I wear them a lot.  I’ve worn them a couple of times this week and since there were no ranch dressing splashed all over them I decided to wear them again today.

Now the thing about the pants is that they are two years old.  And have been worn to hell and back.  The cuffs are ripped and torn.  The right side is bleached a lighter color because of the towel I carry.  And there are four of five holes in them that are mostly covered by my apron.  One of the holes happens to be a rip that is parallel to my right pocket.

So tonight I’d put my money in my pocket.

Only I’d missed my pocket and put the money in the hole in my pants that runs parallel to my pocket.  When I went running the money fell out of my pants leg.  I picked it up not realizing that there was more there.  When I sat down more fell out.  When I stood up to take my money to the cashier more fell out.  When I realized what was happening I shook my leg and a whole pile of bills fell out.

When it was all said and done I counted my money and although it was not as much as I’d have liked it to be it was a realistic amount based on my sales for the evening.

So.

Those pants are going in the garbage tomorrow.  And even though I don’t have any other clean pants, I’ll be scrubbing the ranch dressing off another pair so I have pants that are safe to wear to work.

I’ll take the money I didn’t lose tonight and buy new pants on Saturday.

Whew!!!!!!

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I’m in my 10^th year of being a GM.  

I have no idea how I got here.  An ex-employee of mine asked me that today.  

One day, I was cruising along as a server making a shit ton of money, and ten years later, I’m the BOSS, making a lot less money.  The bad guy.  The one everyone hates.

That being said, I love being a GM.  

I love my staff.  I love our guests.  I love guiding the restaurant.

Last night two tables, went out of their way to tell me how much better things were since I’ve taken over. One of them chatted with me like we’d known each other for years, and I had no idea who he was.  

Most of my efforts are done by doing the exact opposite of what so many managers I’ve had along the way have done.  

I worked at a restaurant in Kentucky for three weeks once.  

In the middle of a Saturday night shift, the GM, whose name was Karen, called us all into the walk-in.  About 15 of us.  She slammed the door and then began to chew us a new asshole.  She went on and on about how horrible we were doing our jobs.  How she was embarrassed to work with us, because we were so bad.  She then told the entire team, that if we couldn’t do our jobs then we needed to find a new career.

I quit about 5 days later.  Without notice.  

Then there was Mike.  AKA Cookie. 

He was great.  Until he wasn’t.  

Every day when you entered the restaurant, the first question was, Is Cookie working?  And that was followed by, What kind of mood is he in today?  

If he was in a good mood, the shift would be awesome.  

If it was a bad mood, then the whole night would suck for everyone.  

Then there was Allan, who randomly picked people to shit on.  He took over the server schedule about a year into my job, and decided that I was making too much money, so he cut my shifts and then stopped giving me the schedule I’d had for a year.  He eventually got fired.  

Then there was Beth, she’d just graduated from restaurant management school.  She was just great.  She had never worked in a restaurant in her life.  My second week of working at this new restaurant that happened to be fashioned after a 50’s diner, we were slammed after all but me and one other server were cut.  

She just kept seating the tables.  And seating them and seating them. 

You can ask anyone who has ever worked with me.  I AM A TABLE WHORE!!! Give me more and more and more.  At my last waiting tables job, I’d have a counter with 10 seats and 4 four top cocktail tables.  And I drove that shit like a pro.  

But I kept watching her seat the tables and seat the tables and seat the tables.  I looked around and every table in the restaurant, about 20 tables were seated.  

I was taking an order when she sat the table next to me.  She gave them menus and said, Jeff with be right with you.  I leaned over while taking the order and said, Actually I won’t.  It will be a long time before I get to you.  

She fired me for insubordination.  

My favorite manager story is Keith.  

Keith was special.  

He too had just graduated from restaurant management school.  He knew everything about everything.  

He was also dating a server at the time, which was a big no no.  I’m pretty sure they eventually got married and moved to Louisville.  PS.  This took place in Atlanta.  

Keith didn’t like me.  I have no idea why.  I will never know why.  

To back up before the day of the special event, we had just gotten a new tile kitchen floor.  The old floor was bad and the tiles were loose and missing.  The powers that be attributed this to pouring salt on the floor when there was a spill.  Supposedly, it eats away at the grout and causes the floor to fail.  However, every restaurant I’ve ever worked in does this…

Fast forward two or three weeks.  It’s a Friday evening.  We are busy.  Crazy busy.  I’m doing my thing.  I walk into the kitchen and the floor is soaked.  We get it mopped up and I pour salt on the floor so no one kills themselves.  

As I’m doing this, Keith comes into the kitchen and loses his mind.  

To this day, I’ve never been treated so badly by a manager.  

He begins to shout at me.  He tells me that I’m fucking stupid.  I’m a fucking asshole.  I’m a fucking this and a fucking that.  I’m ignoring him as I make 4 iced teas and place them on a tray.  

I start out of the kitchen and he follows me, using the word fuck every chance he gets.  I enter the dining room and he’s behind me with fuck this and fuck that.  

I go up three steps into my station and he’s still shouting at me.  

I turn around and he continues.  Finally, I’ve had enough and I say, you know what Keith.  Fuck you.  And I launch the tray at his head, with the four iced tea glasses still on it.  It smashes into the wall above his head.  

There is silence.  

He looks at me and says you are fired!!!  

This was before computerized POS systems.  And so, I pull out the tickets for the 5 tables I have and I rip them into a million pieces and I say, you figure out what the fuck everyone is eating and I leave.  

Fun fact:   My family was visiting from Kentucky and witnessed the whole exchange.

Was I proud? No.  But should anyone be spoken to like that.  Absolutely fucking not.  

I get into my car and I drive 15 miles to another restaurant with the same name.  I go in and ask for Reggie.  I tell him what happened and ask if I can work for him.  He says be back the next day at 4:00.  

Damn.  I was unemployed for 30 minutes.

I get there the next day and he tells me that I can’t work for him because I’m no longer allowed to work for the company.

Hmmmm.

I arrange a meeting with the GM of the restaurant I was fired from.  I tell her what happened.  

24 hours later the district manager calls to apologize and tell me that I can work at any of their other stores.  

2 days later a friend from the original store calls to let me know that the district manager had been in, called Keith into dry storage and chewed him a new asshole.  Everyone in the back of house could hear.  

The GM of that store later shared with me that at the GM’s meeting that month they were mostly upset that I missed his head when I threw the tray.    

I have a million of these stories.  

And the moral of these stories, is try to do the right thing.  At least try.  And don’t treat your staff like shit. And don’t tell them they are fucking stupid.  And don’t be mad when life happens to them.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Hello.

The first weekend of our Christmas celebration is in the books.

Truly the easiest of these I’ve done and this was my 6^th one.  

Tonight, was not as fun as last night.  I didn’t know many people who were in tonight.  No one was being fun.  And tables weren’t turning.  

But guess who did show up tonight?

Go on.  

I’ll wait.  

You guessed it.

Mable.

The one who said she didn’t make a reservation.  The one who’s reservation I cancelled because she said she hadn’t made one.  

Thank god she showed up with 5 people instead of 8 as we barely made that work.  

My host has no idea what happened.

I have no idea what happened.

We told Mable, and she has no idea what happened.  

Alas, it makes a great story, so we’ll go with that.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

While I was in NYC, I had our new host call all of our large party reservations for the weekend to confirm them.

She calls a girl we’ll call Mable.  She is a regular of sorts.

When she answers the host says she’s calling to confirm her party and Mable says:

Uh.  I don’t have a reservation for Saturday.   I never made that.   Surely it’s someone else’s reservation.

And here’s the thing.

I was the one who made the reservation.

She was in two weeks ago.

She stopped on her way out to make the reservation.  We had a conversation about the table she wanted, the server she wanted and I double checked in when she left.

In fact, I scolded a server about it, because the server said she’d be happy to wait on her, when it wasn’t possible to make that happen.

But when she was called, she denied ever making the reservation.

So.

Either I’m losing my mind.

Or.

She is gas lighting me.

Or.

She was really drunk when she was in last.  

I’m going to go with gas lighting.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

It’s late. 

Like 2:00 a.m. late.

I told myself on my drive home I’d be in bed by 1:00 a.m.

That has clearly not happened.

I had a day.  A fucking day.  

So.

Let me tell you about it. 

First, anyone on Facebook who reads these posts will already know this, but for the rest of you Adam and I made a quick trip to NYC on Monday.  We try to go once a year and get our theater fix.  

It was a great trip, filled with all the shows, all the food and all the stress you can imagine.

First.  

We argued about the path to take to NYC.  

I should have stuck to my guns because 15 minutes on the Merrick Parkway, we were rear-ended right in front of the police who had stopped to report on a different accident.  While we were waiting to be processed another car rear-ended a police officer on his way to assist.  It was a shit show to say the least.  

It also caused us to be behind schedule for our dinner reservations.  

But alas we made it on time. 

Fast forward 24 hours.

We are in a cab headed toward the theatre.  The cab driver seems to be taking the longest, slowest route possible.  We finally get 2 avenue blocks away, we insist he stop, we pay, and we sprint to the theater.  

Fun fact:  An overweight, middle-aged man approaching 60 should not run. 

Fun fact:  When an overweight, middle-aged man, approaching 60 sprints to a theater, he remembers why he stopped running in the first place. 

Fun fact:  My left knee was the size of Nebraska when I got up to leave the theater at the end of the show.  

For the next two days, I limped everywhere.  Adam was a champ, and kept telling me I was doing great, but even when you are now taking cabs everywhere, there is still so much walking to do.

Another fun fact:  Tough Mudders are easier to navigate than Broadway theaters.  The show we saw last night, we had tickets in the mezzanine.  We get there only to find out that the only restrooms are in the basement.  Down three flights of stairs.  Try doing that with a bum knee.  I was convinced I was going to tumble to the bottom any second.  I did not get up to pee at intermission.  It was just too much.  

Originally, we were supposed to drive to Boston on Thursday to see a show Thursday night.  But said show was cancelled.  

So, being the crazy people we are, we booked another round of tickets in NYC on Thursday.  We were going to drive back this morning, but I was worried about getting to work late today, so at 10:00 last night, we got into our car and headed north.  

The trip was uneventful. 

Until, we stopped to pick up my car at the park and ride.  I got into my car, turned the key and it went click, click, click.  

The fucking battery was dead.  

At fucking 4:00 in the morning. 

We drove home.  

We climbed into bed at 5:00 a.m.  

5.5 hours later the alarm went off.  

I took a $60 Uber 45 minutes away to meet AAA at my car to get a new battery.  The mechanic was waiting for me when I got there.  It should have taken 20 minutes, but he was a TALKER.  45 minutes later, I was on my way to work.

And the moral of this story is that with all of that, it was still a less stressful trip than my trip to Kentucky.  

With all of that, when I got to work, I was in the best of all moods.  

And it only got better from there.

The staff was in a great mood.  The chef was in a great mood.  The guests were in great moods.  

This weekend, is also the first weekend of the Christmas celebration in our little town.  About 10,000 people, if not more, sweep in to enjoy adult beverages, in the name of Jesus.  

I know we still have tomorrow to go, but universally, we all agreed that this was the smoothest, Christmas weekend had gone for all of us no matter what restaurant we’d worked in.  

One of my servers called me the Governor tonight.  

I literally floated around the dining room, shaking hands, welcoming people, and chatting about everything possible.  I knew about 50% of the people who came in tonight.  And the people I didn’t know are now new friends.  

The meatball lady was in. 

The service dog lady was in. 

The pilot was in.  

The real estate family was in.

I really knew so many people.  

And we didn’t turn anyone all day.  We found room for everyone who called.  I figured out a way to seat 5 people at the bar.  I said, yes, yes, yes all day.

It really was an amazing day.

So please.  Send good vibes that Saturday is equally smooth.