In 2014 I bought a Toyota Matrix. It had manual windows and locks. I paid 500 bucks to install cruise control. It was the lowest mileage car for the cheapest price when I bought it. It’s been paid for for years and I’ve put almost 150,000 miles on it.

However, I told myself at the end of the summer I’d get a new car. An adult car.

And so yesterday I bit the bullet. A grown up car. With electric locks. And windows. And blue tooth. And the Sirius Xm Broadway channel. Don’t cry for me Argentina!!!

It had 6 miles when I drove it off the lot.

I love it.

When I rolled over and looked at the clock it was 6:45 a.m. I didn’t need to be out of bed for two more hours. I adjusted the pillows, pulled the blanket over my head and willed myself back to sleep. 

After another 45 minutes of this I gave up. Jet lag is a bitch. I’d flown home from Barcelona two days earlier and in spite of my trying I was not going back to sleep. I was wide awake and I didn’t need to be at work until at least 9:00. I crawled to the end of the bed, switched on my computer and checked the weather. It was going to be a perfect day, and since it was clear that I was not going back to sleep, I might as well get it started.

At 8:15 a.m. I locked the door of my apartment and headed out into the day. My commute to work was insane. It required me to walk one city block to the south, and one half block to the east. Even after stopping at the grocery store for milk, cereal, and cream for my coffee, I was at work by 8:30. I unlocked the door, turned on the lights, started my computer and then performed the most important task of the day, making coffee. While the coffee was brewing, I sorted through the mail that had collected over the three weeks I’d been in Europe on a “business” trip. Finally, the coffee pot was full and I poured a bowl of Kellogg’s Raisin Bran (it’s funny the things you remember), filled my coffee cup and planted myself at my desk. The time was 8:45 a.m. 

I took a sip of my coffee. I dipped my spoon into the bowl and as I took the first bite of cereal my desk moved about six inches. I had no idea what had happened. I sat there. I rolled my chair to the window, opened the window. My office was on the 25th floor of a non-descript office building. It had no view but if I leaned out the window about a foot, I had a clear view of the World Trade Center 4 blocks up the street. 

I leaned out the window and gasped as I realized that the North Tower of the World Trade Center was on fire. Think Towering Inferno fire. There were flames shooting into the air. I was stunned. I ran down the hall to the office next to ours and shouted, the World Trade Tower is on fire! The women from that office ran to my office and we all stared out the windows. By now it looked as if there were a ticker tape parade occurring. The air was filled with 8.5 x 11 sheets of white paper floating through the sky.  

I immediately picked up the phone and called home. My mother is a worrier. She is from a long line of worriers. Even though NYC is a huge place, if it happens here, it happens on my block. In this particular instance she was right. She and my father had visited NYC in May from Lexington, KY and she was VERY aware of my location. She picked up the phone on the second ring. This was a habit from years of working as a bookkeeper. She NEVER answered the phone on the first ring. She was cheery, I suspect because she thought I was calling to wish her a happy birthday. Yes, September 11th is her birthday. Instead, I said, “I have no idea what’s going on, but the World Trade Center is on fire. I’m fine, but I wanted to let you know before you saw the news and got scared. I’ll keep you posted on what’s going on here.” 

I had barely replaced the receiver when the phone rang. It was my boss. He was calling to check on me. He told me a small plane had crashed into the WTC and reports were differing on what had happened. I assured him I was fine. He told me he would see me later in the morning and we hung up. I turned, stuck my head out the window again and looked back up the street just in time to see the top of the South Tower explode.

It is 9:03 a.m.

I had no idea what was happening. I did not have a TV or radio in my office and the online sources couldn’t tell me any more than I knew first hand. My boss called back and said that it is now being reported that it was two passenger jets that crashed into the buildings and that from all accounts it is a terrorist attack. I assure him once again that I’m fine. He tells me that he’ll see me later. I’m staring out the window at the fires when a voice comes over the PA system telling us our office building is being evacuated. I immediately call him back and tell him what is happening. I also tell him that since I have to leave the building I might try and work my way closer to see what’s really going on. He tells me to be careful and I hang up once again. By this time the announcement has been made several more times that there is a mandatory evacuation for our office building.

I grab my cell phone, lock the door, and head downstairs. My cereal and coffee are still on my desk. My computer is still on. The lights are still on. There was no doubt I would be back to the office in just a short while. I start the trek down the stairs from the 25th floor as the elevators had been turned off. The stairwell was filled with people, calmly headed to the lobby. At this time, things seemed calmer than they were about to be.  

The scene on the street is utter chaos. There are people everywhere. All of the office buildings are evacuating. No one knows what’s going on. People are pushing to get closer. People are pushing to get out of the mess. I start down the street toward the World Trade Center, fully wanting to get closer to see what is happening. By the time I get to the corner of my street, I give up and go home. There are too many people and it’s clear that I’m not getting anywhere near the action.

I get to my apartment, unlock the door, turn on the TV and FINALLY start piecing together the puzzle. Two passenger jets have crashed into the buildings. The idea that this was a freak accident has passed and now there are reports that it was a terrorist attack. I sit on my couch watching the TV in utter disbelief. My phone rings. It’s my mom wanting to know if I’m okay. I tell her that my office building has been evacuated and that I’ve gone home. I assure her that I’m fine.

My phone rings again. It’s my best friend Michelle. She wants to know if I’m okay. I assure her that I am. 

I’m sitting on my couch talking to her as the first tower begins to fall. 

The entire event is surreal. I am chatting with a good friend, while watching this horrible event happen on TV, all of this being accompanied by a tremor of around 2.3 on the Richter scale. My entire apartment was shaking. And just as soon as it started it was over. I was still sitting on my couch, on the phone, still watching TV. Neither of us is speaking. The awe of the devastation we’d just witnessed is overwhelming.

I realize the air is filled with debris. I go to the window just in time to see the huge billowing smoke that is so often shown in the news footage. My apartment had three 10-foot tall windows facing the street. As I stood watching, the beautiful day with perfect blue skies was obliterated and replaced with the blackness of night created by the smoke and debris. 

I hear loud shouting in the hallway. I open the door to find 10 or 12 people covered in soot. They had been chased down the street by the cloud of smoke and had run into my building. The doorman is letting them use the vacant apartment across the hall to clean themselves. I gather up towels and wash cloths for them to use. 

Looking back, I’m amazed that I still had phone service. Both my cell and land lines continued to function. My phone continues to ring and ring. My boss. My parents. Michelle. Friends from around the country. I’m talking to Michelle again when the second tower falls.

The apartment shakes harder this time. Things falls. What little light that is left of the day is gone. 

My apartment is completely dark. 

I hear silence.  

The sirens have stopped.

The horns have stopped.  

The sounds of New York have stopped.  

There is absolute quiet.

Unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. 

There is a complete lack of sound. This is not our city. New York is always noisy. There are always horns, and sirens and people yelling.  

There is always sound.  

This is the complete opposite of that.

I sat there speechless.  

Within minutes Mayor Giuliani issued a full evacuation of lower Manhattan. 

It’s 11:00.

I call my mom and tell her that I’m evacuating and that I will call her when I can. 

I call my boss and tell him that I am fine and that I’m evacuating. 

I call Michelle and assure her that I’m fine. 

I grab a backpack and fill it.  

There is little thought of what I need, or how long I will be gone.  

As I leave my building the sky is blue again. The perfect blue sky of an early autumn day. Deeper than a summer blue. Not a cloud to be seen.

I cross the street and pass someone handing out face masks. I take on. 

I put it on and start to walk north and east toward city hall and the Brooklyn Bridge. 

My walk out of lower Manhattan still gives me chills. 

There are tens of 1,000’s upon 1,000’s of people moving in mass. 

And again the sound of silence.  

No one is talking. 

There are no cell phones. No sirens. No helicopters. No planes. 

Just the silent movement of people in shock moving toward what they hope will be sanity.

I am forced north with the sea of people not knowing where I was going. I had no plan. I walked. Once I passed Canal Street it occurred to me that with the mass destruction that had just occurred surely there would be a need for volunteers. 

Although I really didn’t care for the Salvation Army’s politics, I thought it would be a good place to start, so I kept heading north, finally getting to the Salvation Army building on 14th street. There were 50 or 60 people there, and we were all told the same thing, you have to go through training to volunteer. 

I exit the building, lost again. 

I was on 14th street and remembered that St. Vincent’s hospital was just up the street. I could go there and see if they needed any help. 

I get within a block and a half of the hospital and find myself in a sea of people all hoping to do the same. There were people as far as the eye could see and they have all had the same thought: Be Helpful. They were there to give blood and volunteer. 

While I was standing there, I hear my phone ring. It was my friend Stacy, who was in town on business. She told me that she was at her hotel and that I could spend the night there if I needed a place to stay.  

Stacy was staying on the Upper West Side. At this point all traffic in Manhattan had been halted. The only way to get anywhere, would be to walk. I began my trek north and spent the next several hours walking to her hotel. 

When I got there, I was hoping they knew more than I knew. At this point, the news stations know very little. We planted ourselves in front of the TV and didn’t move for what seemed like hours. At some point, we realized that none of us had eaten all day. We go downstairs into the street. There were no cars, not taxis, no buses. In both directions, the street was empy. 

We stand in the middle of Madison Avenue, looking north and south and there are no cars to be seen.

We discovered a restaurant that was open. We ate dinner in silence. Not really sure at this point what was happening, or what to expect.  

I don’t return home for three days. 

When I do attempt to go home it was an adventure to say the least.  

It’s approaching 7:00 p.m.. The sun is setting. The city is getting dark.  

I got to my first military checkpoint at Canal Street. I explained that I lived in the financial district and that I needed to get home to get more clothes etc. They wanted to see ID. Unfortunately, my driver’s license did not have my current address on it. Luckily, I had a prescription bottle in my back pack and they allowed me to pass. I passed through seven or eight more checkpoints before I got to my apartment building. 

It was dark. There was no electricity. No phone. No water. The entire apartment smelled as though it had been on fire for days. There was a fine dust of soot over everything. The windows were covered as well. I did not want to stay there long. 

As I exited my building, I asked one of the guards on my corner if there was a place in the area to volunteer. He told me that there was a few blocks from away. 

I head that way. People are everywhere. Volunteers were preparing food. Rescue crews on break. I asked about ten people what I could do to help before someone said to me, “You want to help. Go find bread. It doesn’t matter if it’s fucking hot dog buns. Find bread.” 

And that’s what I did. 

I walked several blocks north to a “real” grocery store and I bought all the bread they had. About 150 dollars’ worth. When I got back, the guy that had told me to get bread was in awe. I spent the rest of the afternoon making food, cleaning tables, etc. 

Around 10:00 p.m. they asked if I wanted to go to the site and help at St. Paul’s Chapel. I said that I would.

For those not in NYC, St. Paul’s Chapel is the oldest church in the city. The rear of the church faced the east side of the World Trade Center. It survived. Not even a broken window. It is believed that the large sycamore tree in the graveyard behind the church shielded it from destruction. 

I get to the church around midnight. The next eight hours were long and grueling. It was an endless parade of rescue workers coming in to rest, sleep, pray. Watching these people come in and spend as little as fifteen minutes resting before they went back to work was moving, it’s easy to understand why so many of them face post-traumatic stress disorder today. 

They were worked tirelessly at a job that would prove to be futile.

I spent the night making coffee, emptying trash and trying to be as quiet as I could. There were people everywhere, sleeping on the floor, in the pews, anywhere with a spare inch of floor. 

Once or twice, I wandered outside to look up the street. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and debris. There were huge industrial lights lighting the area where the two buildings once stood. 

It was breathtaking and overwhelming to see. To think that less than a month ago I’d stood in the area between the buildings and basked in the peacefulness the square provided. At night there were very few people in that part of town and for me it was a quiet place to sit and think undisturbed. It was me getting close to nature in a concrete city of 8 million people.  

Places like that in New York City are few and far between. 

Now. It was a mound of destruction that words will never describe. 

Around 10:00 the next morning, I was shuttled back to the volunteer center and I said goodbye to everyone, and started my trek back up town. 

I can’t begin to describe how I felt that morning, once again walking north. 

It was three weeks before I returned home for good.

I’d like to speak to the manager?

Which of these statements is true?

1. The old restaurant got struck by lightning frying the Kitchen display screens meaning half the kitchen didn’t know what was needed.
2. My right knee was as bad a my left knee tonight by the end of service.
3. Three different reservations asked if Iwas the manager Jeff they’d read so much about and wondered why people thought I was rude.

From a year ago!

I needed this today.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

When I started at my job, the front of house was the wild, wild, west.

They had not had real structure in months.

The person who’d been hired to be general manager, had quit unexpectedly. This left Chef to do his job, my job, plus cook, and pay the bills, hire, and manager the whole team.

I know how he is when he’s tired. I can’t imagine what it was like before I started.

My first day was on Wednesday, June 23.

The first words out of his mouth to the staff was, “this is Jeff, go to him with your problems.”

And it was true. 12 minutes into my first shift, I get called over to deal with a steak that had been sent back.

Not his problem.

Go ask Jeff was his mantra for the first several months.

The staff now knows when to come to me.

It wasn’t just the staff who’d needed structure.

The guests had had no structure either.

In the first three days of being there, I pissed off everyone.

I know you are a regular, I know that you know where your seats are at the bar, but I still need you to check in with me.

I pissed off so many people.

At the same time, though, I was creating stability. I’m not sure the staff would have believed that then and I know the guests didn’t, but I was trying.

Slowly things began to change. The staff started to trust me. All except a couple of people, who continued to push back and they ended up having a meeting with me in G-4. That’s where I sit with people who are about to find out they are looking for new jobs.

The guests were a little trickier. I had only ever worked in one restaurant that took reservations and it was a very short stint. I had a lot to learn. A LOT to learn.

It’s funny, about three minutes after I started on one of my first days a man walked in and started to head to the bar. I stopped him and asked if he had a reservation. He said no and started to walk on in. I stopped him and explained that we had no room at the bar.

He looks at me and say, “you’re the guy that used to work at the restaurant across town. I was going to spend a lot of money here but I guess I’m not now.” He’s never been back.

Piss people off I did, but we also came to an understanding.

And now going on 15 months later, for the most part our guests love me. I know who the regulars are. I know how to work magic and get people in.

I know how to make people happy.

We were busy tonight. I stopped taking reservations at 3:00.

We didn’t answer the phone tonight.

And we managed to get in, every regular that showed up without a reservation tonight.

All of them.

And they were all so appreciative. So grateful.

I was on the patio tonight and a man comes up to me and says, “is this your restaurant?”

I explain that I don’t own the restaurant but I am the general manager.

He says, “you should be very proud of what you’ve accomplished here. I’ve worked in the business consulting on restaurants for years, opening too many to count and what you have here is magical.”

I always say thank you. But I also say, that it’s not really me. It’s the chef and the team that do all the work. I just make sure people show up to do the work and they do and they do it well and they make my job easy.”

He wouldn’t hear of it though. He said, “you may say that, but I have seen good and I’ve seen great and this is great. And a lot of that is on you.”

We talked for about 6 or 7 minutes until someone came to say Chef needed me.

Last night I was talking to 2 real regulars who stopped me to say hello. One of them thanked me for getting them in and then told me they really appreciated the changes I had made. They could see a difference in the reservations, in the ability to get in, the ability to get a phone call returned and a huge difference in the service. As always, I explained that it had very little to do with me but I thanked them for the compliment.

I am telling this story, because sometimes I forget and get beaten down by the day-to-day operations and forget that I’m pretty good at my job. I always say that I’ll never be the best general manager, but I’m sure as fuck not the worst.

I am very aware of my limitations. I’m very aware of the things that I struggle with. I’m very aware of the things that I wish I was better at.

But I also know what I’m good at.

I’ll finish by saying that this week we had a 9 top reservation. It was a surprise 30th birthday celebration. I worked with the woman hosting the event over the course of the last month. The event was for her son.

When we reserve a table for more than 8 people, we use a special pre-fixe menu. I have to send all the information, along with pricing, and availability. There were a ton of emails back and forth as we planned the event. Even day of, as a few of the people had tested positive for COVID and couldn’t come forcing their numbers to change.

The day of the dinner, we get everyone seated a head of the guest of honor. The son arrives thinking they have dinner reservations for 2.

Here’s the catch.

I knew the birthday boy. He worked for me in 2013 has a server. He had just finished college and was embarking on his future. He was not the best server, but what he lacked in skill he made up for in being a genuinely nice person. He is still one of my favorite employees.

When he arrived, he gave me a big hug. I exclaimed that it was nice to see him, pretending that I had no idea he was coming in. I picked up two menus and led them through the dining room.

The area where they were seated has a row of two tops against the wall, and 4 tables of 10 in private rooms. I get them there and say you can take a pick of the two tops. He starts to sit down and I say, I actually think you’d like this one better. I lead him to one of the large rooms and everyone yells surprise and he tears up and gets emotional.

He joins his friends and eats dinner.

At the end of the meal, I make point of saying goodbye. He is about to leave and gives me a big hug and thanks me for everything. His mom gives me a bigger hug and thanks me even more.

We stand and chat for about 15 minutes.

And at one point, we are chatting about his time as an employee and I say that I have changed a great deal in the 9 years since he worked for me, and that I’m a much better manager. He looks at me and says, I thought you were a great manager then. And I appreciate all that you taught me that summer.

I hugged him again. And he went on his way.

A lot of people who will read this post worked for me moons ago.

Back in 1902, I was faking it till I made it.

I appreciate their patience. I appreciate their kindness. I appreciate what they taught me.

I have changed. Mostly for the better.

But sometime I have to remind myself that even when I’m struggling, I’m pretty good at my job.

And I’ll never be the worst fucking manager!!!

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Ugly with a chance of rain.

Why do people lose their mind over valet parking?

And it’s not the driver of the $100,000 car.

Tonight it was the owner of a Rav 4.

And a Mazda.

at 3:50 I go to my old restaurant.

I do pre shift. Check in with my staff.

Come back to the new restaurant.

I got back at 4:45 today.

To find out the first table of the night has lost their mind because they have to valet park their rav 4.

They have calmed down by the time I get back.

At 5:15 a couple pull the Mazda in to the handicap spot. And are told they need to give him the keys so he can move the car.

They lose their mind.

We’ll he loses his mind.

Tells all the ways this is illegal. Inappropriate. All the ways he doesn’t have to do this.

He’s making a scene.

I can see aka sense something is going on outside so I step out of the front door.

He’s being rude.

He finally says he’s parked, and he’s going to keep his keys and then we CANT move his car.

I explain that we can have it towed.

His wife ushers him in. Tells him to let it go.

They are seated.

What seems like 12 minutes later, the first table leaves.

On their way out I ask how their dinner was.

Uh oh.

One man loses his shit again.

Telling me all the ways this is a fucked up policy.

They never has to valet park in the old days.

In the old days things were better.

He’s shouting at me.

He finally leaves.

Around 7:15 I’m standing at the end of the bar when the second table leaves.

And do I wish that I’d missed that.

When they came in it was the husband who was on fire.

Now the wife is coming to her husbands defense.

She starts by telling me that I’m rude.

Then she tells me the guest is always right.

And that since her husband is a senior citizen and Vietnam vet I should have treated him with kindness.

I explain that I wasn’t rude until he was rude.

I’m reminded again that the guest is always right.

I say not always.

She lets me have it for at least 15 minutes.

They are going to call the police department to see if I can have a car towed.

I reply by saying that it’s sad that they have let this consume their wonderful meal. An otherwise excellent night has bed. Ruined by their need to be right.

They finally leave.

This exchange has taken place at the end of the bar.

I’m front of guests.

And last night repeats itself.

Two groups at the bar apologize for the behavior. And tell me I’m the reason the restaurant is doing so well.

I know they are right.

But it gets old being beaten up every night.

Which is why….

I’m taking tomorrow off.

My first time having two days scheduled off since April.

I’m going to sleep till 7:00 pm.

Then figure out what to do with the rest of my day.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Last night at 6:00 a three top was seated at the bar.

I was in the kitchen, when this happened so I missed their entrance.

The were less than happy to be seated at the bar and they let everyone know it.

Unfortunately, the second turn was packed. No openings at all.

They let everyone know they were unhappy.

They were a pain in the ass to the bartenders. They hated our entire wine list.

Eventually they settled on a super Tuscan and finally ordered dinner.

They left happy.

So happy that they made reservations to sit in the dining room tonight.

They arrived, had dinner, and were uneventful.

I was standing at the end of the bar when they left.

I asked the three of them how dinner was.

I’m asked if I’m the owner.

I explain that I’m the general manager and inquire again about how their dinner was.

They tell me it was lovely. And that they were in last night and liked it so much they came back.

I reply that I know they were in. They had reservations at another restaurant that couldn’t take them after all.

The reply that their is no way I remember.

I say of course I remember, you had the super Tuscan.

The woman in the party is super impressed and tells me so.

She tells me that they had reservations up the street from us, their reservation was list, and they didn’t even apologize. But that it worked out as this was their favorite meal on their trip.

I say that it was our luck that their reservation was lost.

She looks at me and says, what’s your name?

I say Jeff and she exclaims I’ve read about you.

I had a bad review on Wednesday.

I say that’s me.

She says you’re not rude. You’re lovely. Why would they say you’re rude.

I say, because I have to say no to them and they act like toddlers.

The man she is with immediately embraces me and says I LOVE YOU!!!

We talk another ten minutes or say.

They make their leave telling us we’ll see them next year.

When I got home there was a lively review saying Jeff isn’t rude. He could have been nicer and more welcoming.

They like me. They really really like me.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

This is one of my favorite reviews ever.

And I mean ever.

Someone comes to dine at a steakhouse and then expects to receive a discount for being a vegetarian.

Let’s adress the obvious first.

Yes a potato is cheap. As is a carrot. Fennel. And broccolini.

And if I served you a raw potato, a carrot and broccolini it could be a few Pennie’s.

But.

Mashed potatoes don’t mash themselves. And they aren’t out of a box.

That salad doesn’t make itself.

And that broccolini doesn’t roast itself in a wood fired oven.

Now that that’s out of the way.

Why do people come to a meat forward restaurant and get angry about the menu.

I don’t go to a vegetarian restaurant and leave a review bashing the meat options.

I don’t go to McDonald’s and bitch because Wendy’s has baked potatoes.

And no.

You shouldn’t get a discount.

I’ve said for years that we should implement a kids menu.

We don’t have one.

Serve frozen chicken fingers with honey mustard.

And charge $65 bucks for it.

We actually have a lot a vegetarian can eat.

My friends have done it several times.

So suck it up.

And I won’t complain when I go to an Italian restaurant about their lack of sushi options.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Someone mentioned yesterday that they’d never heard of taking reservations at the bar.

The restaurants I know who do this, started during COVID.

Guests know when they arrive they have seats at the bar.

They are also reserved for dinner so they aren’t just coming in for a cocktail.

More importantly because they don’t belly up to the baevthe folks who are dining aren’t being interrupted with people reaching over them for drinks.

We turn our 23 seat bar at the older restaurant 2.5 times a night. It really is the best bar in town.

The other reason we don’t let people sit at the bar prior to dining is it makes everything harder.

They’ll order drinks, but before they get them their table is ready. It takes forever to get them seated.

If they sit before dinner they’ll end up starting with an app which won’t have come and they’ll have to deal with the check, get the food to the table etc.

Or. They’ll sit at the bar, decide they like it, stay now the server loses covers and the people reserved at the bar have nowhere to sit.

PS. Remember this is all fine dining.

And

More than anything, last night I had one bartender doing service bar for 100 seats, plus serving a 16 seat bar, and it’s just too much to serve the oyster bar. Or people to hang out before dinner.

Ultimately though, I’m in the business of generating revenue. If I say no, I’m not being a dick. I want the business. But not if it slows down and hinders everyone else.

More importantly, take no for an answer. You are not a toddler. These aren’t hard concepts.

Know there is a reason and accept it.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

When someone tells you who they are, believe them.

I missed an interview because of the weather last Friday.

The horrible rain caused an accident and I was late getting to work.

I ended up interviewing her on the phone.

I offered her the job.

She let me know she had other interviews but would let me know her decision.

On Sunday she accepted.

I didn’t get back to her on Sunday.

On Monday, by the time I responded, she sent me an email saying she’d reached out to me by email several times and phoned the restaurant. Could I please respond?

24 hours had not passed at this time.

When I did respond I explained that I was one manager running three restaurants doing the best I can.

She was quite nice with her response.

Yesterday was a blur.

I had a managers meeting, then an interview that led right up to service. I didn’t get back to her yesterday.

Today I got this message:

Any update Jeff? I’m starting my other job on the 7th and would like to get a schedule from you for a start date.
I understand that your busy but I also turned down 5 other places for this job, I’m also a very busy person.
Please let me know as soon as possible, thank you.

Here’s the thing.

She couldn’t start till the end of next week.

And I really am doing the best I can.

I responded by rescinding the job offer.

If she’s this impatient now it’s only going to get worse when she gets comfortable.

And I’m sure she’ll be much happier at a restaurant with more managers who can be more responsive.

I do wish her well.