I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Just checking in.

All is well.

I haven’t given up writing.

I’ve been busy at work.

Trying to spend a little more time with Adam and by that I mean going to bed at the same time as him.

I haven’t been yelled at in weeks.

Lots of fun stories I have to share with you but they are on a list in my office.

Work is good.

About three to four weeks till we open the new restaurants. Besides needing staff it’s moving along nicely.

Truly except for my knee which is currently the size of a basketball thing are good.

Things are going well.

I’ll get back to writing in a couple of weeks.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I’ve written about this before, but it happened twice tonight and I feel like it should be discussed again.

Please explain to me, why you make a reservation at the bar, show up 60 minutes prior to the reservation, to get a drink at the bar before your reservation, and then get surprised when you can’t sit down because we take reservations at the bar.  

Man walks into tonight, says he’s early for his reservation, but wants to have a cocktail at the bar before his reservation.  
It takes a minute to find his reservation, because his reservation is for 6:30. It’s currently 5:30.  

I say, ah…your reservation is in an hour.

He replies, yes, I came early to get a drink at the bar, before my reservation.

I say, but your reservation is for the bar.

Yes, I want to get a drink before my reservation.

But your reservation is for the bar.

Yes, I want to have a drink before my reservation…

I suddenly find myself in a Who’s one first situation.

I explain that he’ll have to wait a bit, since we take reservations at the bar.  

I get him seated around 5:45.  

His friend joins him at 6:30.

And here in lies the problem. We don’t allow this, because you’ve taken up two bar seats for 3 hours because you arrived early for your reservations. Making it impossible to seat other guests at those two chairs for the whole night.  

At 7:00 the whole scenario is played out again. Hi, we have a reservation for 7:30, we’d like to grab a drink at the bar while we wait.  

But your reservation is for the bar.

Yes, we’d like to grab a drink at the bar before our reservation.  
But your reservation is for the bar.  

Yes, we’d like to have a drink while we wait.  

He finally gets frustrated, and says let’s go.

He comes back at 7:30 and we seat him.  

And I will forever wonder, where they think they are going to sit, if they have reservations for a later time at the bar. Hi, stools 13 and 14 are available. Come back and see me at 7:30 and I’ll move you to your real stools.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

As almost all of you know I was once a server.  

In fact, I waited tables off and on from 17 until I was 46.  

I once thought I was going to be a lifer. I’m sure many of my friends thought the same.  

I worked at mostly corporate jobs.  

Bennigan’s. Applebee’s. O’Charley’s. Anyone notice a theme here?  

I will forever be grateful for my Bennigan’s training because if they did nothing else, they taught me how to wait tables.  

5 full days of classroom training from 1:00 to 4:00 followed by a floor shift.  

When I finished, I was actually good at waiting tables.

And thus, it paid a lot of bills along the way.  

Fun fact: Corporate restaurants are full of ridiculous things they expect from their staff.  

And the worst of all of these restaurants with their list of stupid things they expect?  

My last restaurant serving job.  

There were about 150 servers on the schedule, with more than 40 on a single busy shift.  

Sometimes at 10:00 you’d run into a co-worker and that would be the first time you’ve seen them all night.  

The restaurant was stupid busy. I made stupid money, and 89% of the people I worked with were amazing.  

This post is not about the other 11%.

It’s about, the hoops I was expected to jump through to keep my top ranking among my co-workers.  

As a server there, I lasted 5 years. Until I got to Maine, it’s the longest I’d worked anywhere.  

I was pretty good at my job. I worked a section no one else wanted to work, busted my ass and made a lot of money.  

And for 5 years, I had to fight to keep my schedule.

We had hoops.

And the hoops were used to rank the servers. At the end the schedule was posted alphabetically by first name, but back in the day, the manager’s would gather monthly to rank the staff and it was the schedule was published with your name in order of your ranking. NO LIE!!!

And.  

The rankings were no longer published but if you scores were great in the following areas they’d cut your shifts, and downgrade your sections.  

Surveys:  

We asked our guests to do surveys. In a perfect world you’d score a 7.00 on a survey. The restaurants goal is 6.0. The problem with the survey is that there are a lot of things out of your control that can bring your survey average down. If someone fills out a survey and the manager did not visit the table then your average just went down, to a 6.3. If the food was cold. Your average goes down. If the host was rude. Your average goes down. And yet it was my job to get surveys above 6.0. Managers NEVER did table visits, never, never, never. So I was starting with a 6.3 before the experience even started.  

And the big catch to the surveys? You could do them yourself. Yes. It takes a computer and about 2 minutes of your time. And what do you know. A perfect 7. And the best part. Everyone knew this happened. And they encouraged it. They had contests and the top 10 highest survey scores at the end of the month got to write their own schedule. You better believe that I won. But I think it was stupid that my schedule was based on something so easily manipulated.  

Edit: Until my shifts were cut I never filled out my own surveys. NEVER. But I was being punished for a 6.0 average and so…
Fun fact: The last two years I worked there, I was one of a few people recognized for having the best survey scores. And everyone, and I do mean everyone in the room at 7:30 a.m. on Tuesday, knew that I did them myself.  

———————

Frequent Diner Cards.  

We were expected to sell frequent diner cards. Buy it, track the money you spend and get discounts when you reach a certain level. I think it is stupid. I hate being asked to buy this type of shit at other places like Barnes and Noble used to do to get a discount. I hate having to have a card to use at the grocery store. Wouldn’t it make sense to just give everyone a discount. And I have to admit, I never even tried to sell them And my schedule was based on this.

However,

Another catch. You can buy one for yourself. Wait a month. Cash in the original purchase price, because getting the cash back is part of the purchase deal once it’s used. I’m out no money, the restaurant is out no money, and suddenly my schedule improves.  

It was not stealing. I spent 25 bucks. I got 25 bucks. And I also got to keep my schedule. HOWEVER…it is stealing if you track points and then cash those in for discounts. (I did not do this, but I know lots of people who did).  

UPSELL!!!

We are expected to up sell. Every restaurant expects this. The way around this? You can sell a burger add cheese rather than a cheeseburger. The price is the same but the first way gets you up sell points. Chicken nachos? Why do that when you can sell nachos add chicken. We also had people that just added on things to tables that didn’t speak English. If you don’t speak our language, you can’t really argue when the check comes.

I get management wanting to increase revenue. I get management wanting a measurable metric to know how the restaurant is doing, but seriously, if your staff knows it can be manipulated, and you know it can be manipulated and no one is discouraging the manipulation then what is the point?  

Anyone want to guess?

Their bonuses were the point.  

Someone in a corner office who had probably never worked in a restaurant, decided that if they could measure output, then in addition to revenue they could know how the restaurant was performing.  

I’d love to say that I was making any of this up. But too many of you reading right now, know it’s true. Some of you still work there.  
PS. You know what would guarantee a bad survey?  

Working on Sunday nights, when we would run out of cheeseburgers, French fries and we were serving guests out of kids cups because we didn’t have glassware. No lie!!!
Its called Sunday – Funday for a reason.  

So whenever, ever, someone suggests we do things like this at a restaurant that I have managed, I have kiboshed it. How do you measure your staff’s ability? Stand at the door and ask your guests how things were. Look at their tip percentage next to their net sales. How many comps do they have? How many voids? How do their co-workers feel about them? Are they on time. Are their sells always 100 dollars less than their co-workers. Do you look at the server’s sections when you walk through the dining room?  

Yes it was a big restaurant, but the manager’s knew who their soldiers were. They knew who should be training. They knew who should be a rocker!!! They knew who should be working at the diner down the street.  

They knew all of this, but their hands were tied by a corporate structure that didn’t work. 

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I’ve been missing in action again.

I have been beat for the last week.  

I’ve taken COVID tests. 

I’ve increased water.  Tried to sleep more.

BEAT!!!

I went to the doctor on Monday, and he wants to run a bunch of tests.  I’ll go back next Monday for that, as the lab closed early on Monday and we had a Nor’easter on Tuesday.  

However.

I feel much better today.

I hope it sticks.

Thus, I’m writing tonight.

PS.  I just looked at the clock and it said 12:45 a.m.  I thought, it’s still early.  Then realized, I haven’t changed the time on the clock in my office yet.

Ugh.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

We got a snow day!!!

We got a snow day!!!

We got a snow day!!!

It snowed here on Friday night and all day Saturday. The storm was our first nor’easter of the year. They are fierce storms with tons of wind, that drop tons of precipitation on us. Mainer’s pay attention when it’s a nor-easter because it can mean power outages, 3 feet of snow, and flooding.  

This was supposed to be the big storm of the season, as this year has been kind of snow bust.  

It was a storm, but not as big as they predicted.

However, the snow was wet, and heavy, and pretty and made dealing with it a little difficult.  

At noon yesterday, I reached out to see if we were going to open. I was told yes.  

I was told I didn’t need to come in, but I said that I couldn’t ask my team to come in if I wasn’t willing to do it myself.  

Fun fact: Most people aren’t permitted here to call out for weather. We live in a snowy climate. As I like to say, if you don’t want to drive in the snow, move to Florida.  

Anyway.  

I showered, and was getting dressed when my phone rang. It was Chef telling me he’d changed his mind. He’d driven around, ala superintendents in Kentucky, and determined that the roads we kind of crappy.  

I spent the next 30 minutes calling and texting the staff and our reservations. 

By 1:00, I was back in bed, blanket and pillow over my head, fast asleep.

I slept on and off until 5:00, when our smart light bulbs turned on.  

I was still in bed, when Adam called to ask me to come in to town to have dinner after he got off work.  

Seriously! Dinner out on a Saturday night.  

I then moved to the couch and hung out there until 7:30. I got up, showered again, and drove in to town. 

I had dinner at his restaurant.  

As I was sitting there, I kept seeing people I didn’t know.  

Who is that? Is that person new? What about that one?

I know most of his staff. Most by name. And some of them I consider my friends.  

It eventually dawned on me that these were Saturday night people.

I haven’t been to eat out in Portland on a Saturday night in probably 5 years. That’s why I didn’t know them,

Dinner was amazing as always.  

We came home, watched one TV show, and by 12:30 were in bed.  

I then slept from 1:00 a.m. until noon, in a deep coma like sleep.

I don’t know if I was that tired, but if felt glorious.  

Until I got up and headed to work.

Fun fact: Snow days as an adult are not as fun as they were when we were kids.

EVERYONE at work tonight was off their game.

First, we all thought it was Wednesday, because that’s the first day of our week.  

There were stupid mistakes. 

And just all-round weirdness.  

We were all happy when it was over.  

Based on the forecast for the next 10 days, it’s probably our last chance of serious snow this year. Of course, it is Maine, so it can snow into Maine.  

Luckily, it’s Sunday night. I have the next two days off, to recover from my snow day. 

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Tonight at 5:00 a couple walked in looking for seats at the bar. I ask if they have reservations. They did not.

They then began the discussion of how hard it if for locals to come in.  

They assured me that they come in all the time, but they struggle for reservations.

I’ve never seen them before.  

At the end of the night an 8 top leaves. They are the last table of the night.

The last person, a woman walks up to the table where I’m sitting, gets about 6 inches from my face and begins with:

Are you the manager?

Yes, I’m the GM.

I need to tell you something.

She then launches into how bad the service was at a restaurant a few miles from us. Her demeanor and tone, somehow suggested that I should have been able to fix the problem.

She then launches into how hard it is to get a reservation at the bar, especially since they are locals.  

I ask her if she enjoyed sitting at our bar, and she informs me that this is their first visit to the restaurant, but they are locals and would like to sit at the bar, but it’s hard to get in. They live 30 minutes from the restaurant and it shouldn’t be so hard for the locals to get it.

She has inched closer to my face. I could kiss her without moving my head.  

Finally, her friends tell her to stop talking and come along.

15 minutes later she joins them. 

And herein lies the question.

What is a local?

When I first worked in my little town 10 years ago, the company that oversaw the restaurant was always suggesting we do something for the locals.  

A frequent flier card? A discount card? A card to move you to the front of the list.  

I said no, every, single, time.  

And I always said…What is a local? How do you define it?

It is someone who lives on our side of the bridge? Do they have to live here year-round? What do you say to the summer locals. Do they need to own property? What about the people who own 10-million dollar houses on the ocean who are only here twice a year? What about the people who live one tenth of a mile across the bridge with a different zip code. What about the people who live 4 miles into the small town in the other direction. What about the people who live 10 miles away, out by the high school? What about the police officer who lives 30 miles away in another county?  

Neither couple tonight who lamented being a local have ever been to my restaurant. Fun fact: If you were a local you’d already know how to get a reservation. Your friends would have clued you in. You’d call and say hi, is this Jeff? My friend’s Donna and John said that I could give you a call and you could get us seats at the bar.  

I hate, hate, hate the local statement. As if somehow, we should treat people differently.  

The couple who wanted to sit at the bar, reminded me they were year-round residents and it’s how we pay our bills in the winter. I wanted to reply that 10 years ago that was true. It is no longer true. The tourist season is year-round now. The day trippers are year-round. I chatted with a table from Houston last night. Here for the weekend. I chatted with a table from Georgia tonight. Here for a wedding. Tourist season is 365 days a year.  

Trust me, we love the locals, but we love the regulars more. A family from Boston, who eats at our restaurant, at least once a month, reached out today, to get a reservation for 8 people next Saturday. They knew how to reach me, who I was, and asked about my knee. When I responded I ask how business was in Boston, and if their son was engaged yet. Not locals. But regulars. 

Meanwhile, anyone have comments on how to differentiate a local from a non-local?

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I got an email from a person today asking if we were hiring.

I wrote back and said, yes, we are hiring, and asked them to forward me their resume.  

They responded about 15 minutes later and said, I don’t have restaurant experience, but I want to be a waiter.  

I have not responded yet, but I thought to myself:  Why of course you do!  I’m surprised that you didn’t ask to be a bartender.  

Reminds me of a certain CEO, who didn’t have any experience, but the bought the company anyway.  What’s the worst that could happen?  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I hate, hate, hate online reviews.

I know, know, know to not give them any power.

But, no one.  

And I do mean no one, likes to be told they are horrible, even if the comments are lies.  

Maybe especially if they are lies, because fun fact, if they were true, I’d just fucking own the truth. 

Today’s fun post Trip Advisor post:  

Attended a magnificent wedding in Kennebunkport and was looking forward to the after party held here. “Greeted” by what has to be the rudest and most unprofessional front of house person I have ever encountered, who I have since learned is the owner. It was like it was HIS party and we were fortunate to attend! Suffice to say we left early as he insulted us, argued with us and made the night so uncomfortable that we could not stay and enjoy the celebration with our family. 
This place is the opposite of hospitality, and it seems our awful experience with this rude man is not unique. Plenty of wonderful places to eat in that magical town….avoid this one and find a pleasant one!

Date of visit:  June

Tune in as I break it down for you.

First, she waited 8 months to write the post.  

It’s fun to think of how much space I took up in her brain, since then.  The sleepless nights she had scheming and planning just what to say.

But.  

Actually, it was only 5 months.  How do I know this?  Because the only after wedding event we did last year was the last weekend in September. 

When you are the event planner you know these things.  

I truly wished, in the world of worlds that I was the owner.  

Yes, I have on business casual attire.  

Yes, I am the one at the door most nights.  

However, if you looked at our website, you’d know that I’m not a 6’3” Argentinian man. 

I truly would love to be 6’3”.    I would love to be a Argentinian.  

Who the fuck doesn’t want to be tall dark and handsome.  

But Jeffery here, is about as white as they come.  I’m barely 6’0” according to my doctor, and I haven’t had a tan since 2003, when I was in San Diego about to start graduate school.  True story.  

So, how do you confuse me with the owner.

The question I always ask myself, is why was I argumentative?  Why was I rude?  Why did I insult you?  And in what way did I make you so uncomfortable, that you had to leave?  

Go on.  I’ll wait, tell me what happened.  

While I wait, I’ll give my side of the story.  

In the spring a couple reached out to see if it was true that we still hosted wedding after parties.  

We do.  We are only a couple of places that do, because, true story, most of them turn into nightmare situations, with people throwing up all over the place, breaking things and becoming unruly.  

So how do we account for that?

First, we charge for it?  More than we need to.  But we are not an event space.  We are not a bar venue.  We really are doing you a favor by letting you come drink with us.  And for me, it’s the worst, because I have to be there for the whole event.  My day usually ends at 10:30/11:00, when you are with us until 1:00 a.m. I’m not getting home till after 3:00.  My pay doesn’t change.  I don’t get tipped.  So please don’t think it’s for me.  I do it for revenue.  

We are also very specific about the do’s and don’ts. 

The list of rules is shared with the couple, and it is signed into the contract.

And ultimately, the music can stop, the lights be turned on, the party ends and the guest leave, and we keep the money because you broke the rules.  

I’m still waiting.  

Okay then. 

On the night of the party, we have a person at the door who cards everyone.  And I do mean everyone.  Not even the parents of the wedding couple can attend the after party without an ID  This is in the contract, I call you and remind you of it, the week of the event.  

I was at the door, when your son arrived in our lobby.

He entered enjoying what I assume to be was a nice plastic cup of gin and tonic.    

Before I asked for his ID, I asked for the cup.

Instead of giving it to me, he took a drink and stood there.

I asked again.  He moved outside, took a drink and stood there.

I asked one, final time, and he finished the drink and stood there.

At which point, I let him know that he could not enter the establishment.  

Why you ask?

Because the number 1 rule on our list of rules, is that absolutely NO outside liquor may be brought into our establishment.  Failure to comply will result in the party ending and everyone being asked to leave.

Fun fact:  It’s an open bar.  He only needed to give me his ID, walk in and have all the gin and tonics that he wanted.  Instead he was belligerent.  

I gave your son, three chances to do the right thing.  

He did not.

At this point, I assume when a grown ass man is being this difficult about a plastic cup with a drink in it, he’s probably intoxicated.  And since he’s probably intoxicated, I’m not going to let him in to drink more. 

He, however, didn’t take no for an answer, and made a scene.  Continuing to prove that I was right with my gut instinct.  

But wait.  There’s more.

This would be when his mother arrived, to tell me all the reasons that I couldn’t do this.

He had travelled from Germany to attend the wedding.  It wasn’t fair.

He was from a different country, and didn’t understand the laws.  

You promised he’d behave if I let him in.  

I said, no and you became irate, pushing each of your arguments.

I first suggested I call the police and ask them to come explain to your German son, what the legal ramifications of consuming alcohol in a public place, drinking it in a moving vehicle and being publicly intoxicated were.  

I also suggested, that I get your friends, whose wedding you were at, and let them know that I’d be happy to let you son attend the party, but all alcohol consumption would end immediately.  

Eventually, you realized that I was not budging and made the decision to leave.  

And no, your experience with the rude man, is not unique.  It seems that every time I tell a grown ass person NO, they lose their shit.  

All kidding aside.

I will not lie awake tonight, trying to determine ways to be rude to people tomorrow.  I won’t lie awake thinking of all the ways I can say no, to ruin someone experience.  It makes me very happy to be nice.  It makes me very happy to say yes.  

But sometimes the answer is no.

I booked a reservation for 8 people tonight.  They requested 10.  I explained what needed to happen to have 10 people.  They said no and booked for 8.  They’ll show up with 10.  And when they do, I’ll explain that they can’t be seated with 10. And they’ll say the host made a mistake and they were told it was for 10.  And, when I say that the last 2 can’t join, I’ll be the asshole.  When I was clear with the rules from the beginning.  

This happens every, single time.  

Meanwhile, 99.99999% of the people who walk through our doors play by the rules, love the experience, love me at my job, and benefit from the changes I’ve made.  

But that .00001% kills me.  

PS.  When you were greeted, you were pleasant.  I was pleasant.  You’d already been in the restaurant and gotten your own beverage, when word was sent that your son wasn’t being allowed in.  

I really, really, don’t mind being the bad guy, but at least tell the real fucking story.