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.