Six

Squish

Uh-uh

Cicero

Lipschitz!!!

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

A server at the new restaurant came to me tonight to let me know table 21 was not happy and wanted to speak with me.  

A little back story.  

We were struggling at the new restaurant at the bar tonight.  The bartender was on the bar alone.  Was new.  And he struggled.  

He also killed it and I thought did a great job, considering the obstacles.  

However.

Tonight, was not our best service.

To be honest, no one was close to having their best service.  

I struggled to stay positive.  

Table 21 started off with a bang when their ticket for their drinks never printed at the bar.  I know this because I was at the bar, expoing keeping the bartender on track.  

We discovered this at 30 minutes.

It probably would have been caught earlier, if I had not been on the bar, nor had the server had a drop in blood sugar and excused herself for about 15 minutes.  

When it was discovered that the drinks were missing.  It was corrected and I delivered the last drink, where I was told that if the bartender was struggling that perhaps I should help him instead of just standing there. 

I replied, I am helping and here you go.  

We also realize at this point that we are out of the beer that they ordered and I had to substitute a different beer.  

Fast forward 40 minutes. 

Their food is going out.

Except that we have discovered, that the whole fish that they have ordered is not the fish that we prepared. 

We know this in the kitchen, but not before the food has already been taken to the table.

It’s at this point that I’m told they’d like to speak with a manager!!!

I go to the table and say I understand that we have a problem with someone’s order.  

And that is in fact when the train crashed into the barricade and came off the rails in the biggest way.  

The woman at seat three begins. This experience has been a disaster since the beginning.  We had to wait for 40 minutes for our drinks and you didn’t offer to buy them, barely apologized and then you didn’t have the beer that we’d waited for.  This was made worse by my not helping the bartender make drinks and my watching them from across the room.  

She continues that I should have visited the table, when they tried to order the whole fish, and was told we only had one and she had to order something else.  

NOW, the food has arrived and not only have they had to wait, but it’s the wrong food.  

I apologize and say that I’m here to see what the person would like in place of the whole fish and that I’ll be taking care of the order.

And she says, we won’t be paying for any of this meal.  After the service we’ve had.  

And I explain that if they eat their entrees, then they’ll pay for their entrees and that that’s not how life works.  

I should mention this is a 6 top.  

Because the minutes I finish speaking 6 people begin to shout at me about what a despicable human being I am.  I should be embarrassed to call myself a manager.  That I suck (this has become a go to mantra for people who don’t like me).  That I’m bad at my job.  That I’m this and I’m that.  

I interrupt and say once again.  

If you eat your entrees then you’ll pay for your entrees.

And the man at the head of the table says, OR WHAT? 

I explain, that they’ll either pay the check or I’ll make it a police matter.  

They all explode again.

When they calm down, I’m told, fine, we won’t eat our entrees.

I think to myself, I must be talking to five year old’s, because they are being have worse than a five year old. 

I say great.  You are finished here.

I get them the check and the man at the head of the table, informs me that he’s not paying the check because I didn’t comp all the food.  

I say to him, you at the apps, there was nothing wrong with the apps.  You will pay the bill.

And he rips it up and throws it at me.  

I explain, once again, that he needs to pay the bill.

They begin to shout at me again.  You suck. Your bad at your job?  You call yourself a manager.

Oh.

And throughout all of this they are telling me that they live here.

I finally ask what that has to do with anything, and they begin yelling again.

Oh.

And throughout all of this, they are shouting that they are in customer service, they have worked in hospitality, and that they have been managers.

And I think to myself, that if they act this way after working in the business they must have been horrible before.  

I say to the man at the head of the table once again, you need to pay the check.  

And I walk away.

The server walks by a few minutes later and I ask if they have paid the check.

She says no, but they’ve tipped her.

I tell her to drop the check again, and then decide to comp the food.  I give her the new check tell her to collect payment and then not to go back to the table.  

They pay.  

And she lets me know this.

About 6 or 7 minutes later, they get up to lead.  

And this is when the train that hit the wall and came off the rails explodes in to tiny little pieces. 

As they leave, I’m sitting on a stool in the lobby.

And they begin to yell again.  You are the worst.  You should be ashamed.  You should be embarrassed.

And I finally say, You know what?  I’d love to live your charmed life.  A life so perfect that waiting for a drink and food is the worst thing that happens, thus making it so bad you can’t stand it.

And they begin to shout again, and then a man gets in my face and calls me a p*ssy.

And I stand up and tell him to get out of my restaurant before I call the police.

And they challenge me on this and I look at the host and say, dial 911.  

They are still telling me all the horrors that my existence creates. 

They call me a fat bastard as they leave the building.

And they continue when they are in the parking lot.

And then I realize that I have a posse behind me, as the shucker and the executive sous chef are standing behind me in case this goes south.  

We are inside, looking out when I realize that the assholiest of them all is taking video.  

So I wave at him like Forest Gump.

And he says something so I go outside, and ask him what he is doing.

And he tells me he is collecting documentation.

And I ask of what.

And he says of the amazing meal we had.

And continues to yell at me, and ridicule me, and call me names.  

In the course of all this, they have said, that they are going to post on social media.   They have told me they aren’t going to leave until I give them the owners name and number.  They tell me they are going to the old restaurant and pound on the door tomorrow till they get to see him.  That they are going to make up fake profiles so they can leave hundreds of bad reviews.  They are going to tell all of their friends how horrible I am.  

Finally, the valet has their car and they keep mouthing and mouthing and mouthing.  

Then another 6 top walks out and it turns out they know the first 6 top, so I ask how their meal and service was and they said great.  And I have a 15-minute conversation about the restaurant and Walker’s restaurant and how Adam and I love it but we can’t go because they are closed on Tuesday’s too.  And if I had to guess, he was a little embarrassed by his friends.  

Finally, everyone is gone. 

I breathe.

And everyone wants to know if I am okay.

And I think to myself, this wasn’t even the worst I’ve experienced.  

I will say that being called a bastard is a trigger for me, and I hate it worse than being called a f*g.  

I hear from Joe, the chef, that the shucker and the bartender had come in to the kitchen to let him know what was going on, and that the shucker was ready to fight if it came to that.  

It felt good to know I had tough guys behind me.

Meanwhile, I’ve been trying to figure out how to link p*ssy, fat, bastard into the Cell Block Tango song from Chicago.