I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

An observation I made today.

My new restaurant is a staple in the Portland community.  We serve elevated, approachable comfort food.  

And yet.  

There are not a lot of kids dining with us.  

Occasionally, yes.

But not like my old restaurant.

One night at my old restaurant, there were 14 kids below the age of 6 seated having dinner.  It was chaos.  

One night, they were almost all seated in a single server’s section.  We referred to it as Garrett’s Day Care.  

Meanwhile, you’d think that a less expensive restaurant, serving more approachable food would be filled with children.

But alas, that is not the case.

I hope I didn’t just jinx myself.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

As I mentioned Adam and I went to the theater last night.  

In Boston.

From Portland to Boston is only a 2-hour drive. 

Door to door.

Assuming there is no traffic.  

Assuming.

Therefore, you have to give yourself ample time.  Sometimes it’s 2 hours.  Sometimes it’s 4.

We left at 2:00 for our 5:00 dinner reservation. 

Yesterday wasn’t too bad and we arrived around 4:15. Our restaurant didn’t open till 5:00, so we had a few minutes to spare.  Adam pulled out his lovely answer box and discovered there wasn’t much else open save for a Mexican place about two blocks from us.

We walked there and when we arrived, it was fairly non-descript space on a corner on a side street.  There was only one other table occupied.  The staff was clearly prepping for the evening service, as a bartender was cutting fruit and a server was rolling silverware.

An older Hispanic gentleman was at the lone table trying to take their order.  He motioned for us to sit anywhere and went back to the table.  There was a language barrier as he spoke mostly Spanish and they spoke mostly English.  

Finally, he got their order, and brought us two menus.  

He went to put their order in, grabbled silverware for us, and came back to the table.

We explained that we only wanted drinks and we ordered two Aperol spritzes.  

He went on his way, as Adam and I chatted about the show, our dinner plans, and new eye glasses.  We both need them.  

What seemed like forever passed and he brought our drinks.

He explained that he’d run out of Aperol, at least that’s what we think he said through broken English, but we do know he apologized, was very sweet and sat our drinks in front of us. 

We toasted, blew each other a kiss, and took a sip.  

It was an Aperol spritz of some sort, but it was clearly not traditional.  It was not bad by any means, and served its purpose by giving us something to do before dinner.  

We were sitting there chatting, when the gentleman approached the table again.  

He apologized for the Aperol spritzes and sat two new drinks in front of us.  

He explained that the first two drinks were not of the quality he liks, so he’d brought us something better.  We were so surprised, and protested, but he would have none of it.  

He insisted.

He walked away to serve the three other tables that had arrived since we sat.

We toasted and tasted the most wonderful coconut concoction, booze forward, especially for having to drive later, but delicious.  

We continued to sip them until around 4:45 and then we asked for the check by doing the official sign for we need a check.    

He came back to the table and told us there would be no charge, as we didn’t get what we ordered and he wanted us to leave happy.  

We were stunned, but Adam was having no part of it.  He insisted that we pay, because when you own a 40-seat restaurant, every penny counts. 

Finally, the man acquiesced and took Adam’s credit card.  A few minutes later he returned.  He’d charged us for 1 drink.  

We tipped more than the check and made a promise to come back, and not only have drinks but have dinner as well, as the menu looked amazing.  

Another table was coming in as we made our exit, and we walked hand in hand to our restaurant.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Adam and I went to Boston last night to see a play.

Tremendous show, we were both impressed.

Before the show we had dinner at a tapas restaurant.

We sat at a two-top that was spaced NYC style. Meaning that the tables next to ours was less than six inches away. When you live in New York, you get used to it, and after a while, you mostly stop noticing the conversations next to you, and just focus on your own date.

Which was mostly the case last night.

Except.

The table next to us was intriguing.

Adam thought they were on a date.

I’m pretty sure she was a friend seeking immigration advice as she was in the country on a student visa.

He was an attorney.

I know a little about immigration law, as a manager of a restaurant in Maine who has often brought J-1’s and H2B visa employees to work for me. They are some of the best.

His commentary sounded legit, although I was ready to whip out the contact information for my favorite immigration lawyer who lives in Boston.

The meal was quite delicious, although our server forgot to bring two of the small plates we ordered. I was mostly disappointed that we didn’t get to try the octopus.

But when all was said and done, we were full and really didn’t need them.

However, about 30 minutes into our meal, the man next to us knocked his cocktail off the table. He didn’t knock it over. He knocked it off. It hit bottom first and exploded with a boom. Glass and liquid went everywhere.

He didn’t apologize.

He didn’t help to clean it up.

He didn’t check with the table on the other side of him, which was the side of the table the glass was on.

He instead went into lawyer mode.

“Doesn’t the table look slanted.”

“Is the table level?”

“I think the server put the glass too close to the edge of the table.”

And a few more comments that made me laugh.

Meanwhile, I’m thinking, if you are worried about liability, then I’m pretty sure some concern for your neighbors would go a long way.

Perhaps, say, are you folks okay?

Do you need anything?

Let us move while you clean up the mess.

But alas, he made his comments, then sat there and went back to eating.

When a new drink arrived, he made a point of taking it from the server and setting it in the middle of the table.

I’m still convinced it wasn’t a date.

And if it was, I’m hoping it was her last with him.