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?