I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Table 36.

They arrive at 5:00.

At 6:30 they have still not ordered dinner.

Finally, around 7:00 they place their order.

Two steaks.

Two sides of mashed potatoes.

At this point they tell their server that they will not accept luke warm potatoes.  The potatoes need be as hot as McDonald’s French fries, right out of the fryer.  

Seriously.  

The server asks me how to address this.  

I tell her I’ll speak to the expo, but if I have to, I’ll explain to the table, that while the potato should be warm, they are not meant to be the temperature of the sun.  

I didn’t hear back till about 8:00 when I’m informed that they are happy with their meal.

They were the 2^nd to last table to leave for the evening.  

They tipped 13% on their $450 check.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

It’s Friday night. 

Actually, it is Saturday morning as the time is 12:13 as I start to write this.

I was so beat last night when I got home, that I truly came home, did the dishes, and went to bed.  

Tonight was a little better.

Yesterday was one of those days that made me say at 10:00 that I don’t know if I can do this again this summer.

Truly.

My day started when I picked up the phone and a man starts: He is angry. He is outraged.

He is upset that we take a credit card to hold a reservation.  

He asks if this is true.

I assure him that it is indeed true.  

He launches into how outrageous this is. How after traveling the world he’s never been asked to do this.  

At no time, does he ask our actual cancellation policy. At no time does he ask if there is are exceptions.

He is angry.

Finally, he says, we are from Florida what are you going to do about the storm this weekend. We’ve been told that it’s going to be the worst storm you’ve had all winter.  

I actually laughed. I know I shouldn’t have. But I laughed.

I reply, I’m not sure where you have heard this, but there is no snow predicted for the weekend, I assure you that it won’t be the worst storm we’ve had all winter.  

This pisses him off.  

He continues his outrage and finally hangs up.

About 3 minutes later I get a text from Chef.  

It’s a screenshot of this man’s Google review.  

It says, Though, this restaurant gets amazing reviews for their food, the issue is charging for cancellations is nuts in today’s climate. In fact, we are going to be in town for 4 days from Florida. We are unsure of our travel plans. Given the severe weather coming in the next 48 hours we are uncomfortable electing to take the chance. I called the restaurant and the host said, I don’t understand the issue. You’ve seen the weather, this is no snow coming.  

With his flip attitude, I would not eat there even if they did not have such a stupid policy.  

Think twice before you spend any money at this establishment.  

I have to admit I was probably flipper than I meant to be.  

But it’s New England.  

You’ve chosen to come to here in the throes of winter. It is no surprise that it is cold here. It is no surprise that it snows here. It’s about 25 hours till the time of your reservation. I’m not sure what my answer was supposed to be. Make the reservation. Let me hold the table. And if you decide at 5:00 tomorrow that it is too cold, I’ll cancel the reservation, after I’ve told repeated people that we are full.  

Meanwhile.  

About 12 minutes after the review was posted on line, I got a letter to our info@email address.

It is this man’s wife. She’s emailed to let me know how appalled she is with the entire experience.  

She’s traveled the world and never given a credit card.  

It is not hospitable to demand this of your guest in today’s market.  

I was rude to her husband by pointing out that it was not going to be a severe storm.  

I didn’t give them any other options, like suggesting that they just walk in and get a table as the website says we can accommodate.  

And my favorite part of the email: I’ve looked at your reviews and several have complained about the maître d. I would assume that is who spoke to my husband, based on his rudeness.  

She continues her complaints about me.  

She is right. I should have been more patient. But at no time does she mention that from the time I said hello, I was put on the defensive. Her husband came in hot and I responded as such.

I took the night and then responded to her today.  

I explained why we have a cancellation policy. In one weekend when 8 tables no show, you change your policy. We are too small of a restaurant to not have to do so. I also let her know that many restaurants in the area have this same policy.

I also explained that we hardly ever charge anyone, and that as long as you call, we will cancel your reservation without an issue.  

I also explained that they weren’t offered a chance to walk in as we don’t save room for walking ins. (I didn’t let her know that it absolutely does not say that you can walk in online).

I also explained that we live in New England. That unless we get more than a foot of snow, we hardly ever close the restaurant. We live here and are used to harsh winters.  

My favorite part of my email:

As for the maître d, he is an amazing part of our team. The reviews you saw were solely based on his inability to accommodate a guest’s request. Unfortunately, even though we hate when when it happens, sometimes the answer just cannot be yes. When he disappoints a guest they tend to take their anger online, regardless of why it happened.  

She responded during service tonight, that while she appreciated the response, she is still concerned about our policy and that looking at your reviews however it does seem that 99% of the negative reviews are about service and the way people are treated. So just a thought, it might be something that management should take a look at.  

She will get the last word.  

But over 200 five-star reviews to 15 one-star reviews. I don’t think her opinion merits a lot of thought. 

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I hired a new manager!!!

Life changing to say the least.

For 1.5 years I’ve been a one-man band in the front of house.  Its manageable, but sometimes you need another adult in the room to say What the fucking fuck!!!

Someone you can bounce ideas off of.  

Someone you can ask about how to manage a situation.

Someone else to be the bad guy.

Someone else to be there so you can have a random Sunday night off.

Peter started two weeks ago. 

Today was his first day of week three.  

We are still getting to know each other.  There are complaints I could make, but first and foremost he wants to do a good job.  Asks great questions.  And takes direction. 

He’s teachable.  

With those characteristics, within a short time, he’ll be great.  He kind of reminds of my friend Laura, my friend Charity and my friend LaTara. 

On his first day, we sat in the dining room at a table away from all the action and chatted about my view of hospitality.  

In 2013, I put together a presentation about hospitality.  It was about 35 minutes long.  And it’s one of the best presentations I’ve ever given.

Sometimes when I start to speak, I know I’m going to hit a grand slam.  (Look at me making a sports reference).  

Sometimes when I start to speak, I feel like I’m lost in a vortex.

On May 8, 2013, I started the training day with my speech about hospitality.  

And I killed it.  About 8 minutes into my presentation, I realized one of the owners was hanging in the back listening.  

I truly killed it.

He approached me afterwards and asked if I’d be interested in putting together training for the whole company.  This was one of 45,698 things I was asked to be part of that turned out to be lip service. 

But alas.

Since, I’ve started my new job, I’ve tried to do a scaled down version of this speech.  It’s never been as good.

So, I gave this speech to Peter, my new manager!!!

And it sparked a great conversation about how I approach hospitality.  

I treat people as though they’ve entered my home for a dinner party.  I shake a lot of hands.  I give a lot of hugs.  They are guests in my home.  

And about 6 minutes in I say, I don’t think the customer is ALWAYS right, but I do think they need to be heard.

I continue that I think corporate restaurants have ruined it for the rest of us, because guests walk in with the idea, that we are to cater to their every whim, must never say no, and must use the comp button if they dislike anything.

During this part of the conversation, I give examples, where I tried to do the right thing, but the guest was having no part of it and that ultimately ended with them yelling and screaming obscenities at me.  

I shared stories that all of you have heard.

And always, and I do mean always, the person I’m speaking to thinks that I’m stretching the truth.  That I’m exaggerating.  That I’m making the narrative meet my needs.

They don’t always say this, but they do come around the first time it happens to them.

Every time.  And I do mean every time a server, helps me at the door I get yelled at.  Ask Jen.  Ask Sam.  They turn to me and say,  oh my god, you aren’t lying.  

Speaking of the first time it happens to them.

For the first time since Peter started, I left early on Sunday night.  I got all the reservations in at 6:30 said my goodbyes and headed to Adam’s staff party.    I actually left at 6:50 because of the non-alcoholic wine people.  

I leave knowing Peter will be fine.  We have just a few more reservations, what could possibly go wrong. 

He seats the last reservation of the night.  

They have made a reservation for the dining room but want the chef’s table.

He accommodates their request.

They order, and their food is delivered.

Seat four has ordered a filet.  It’s placed in front of him and without even cutting it, he sends it back saying its undercooked.  

How he knows this without cutting it or even touching it is beyond me.  

The steak is returned to the kitchen to bring it up a bit.  

Unfortunately, chef was in the prep kitchen, making empanadas for the dinner Adam and I were going to enjoy tonight.  Special empanadas just for us.  

Meanwhile, Chef’s right-hand man, forgot the steak and over cooked it.  

Fuck.

Peter goes to the table, apologizes and explains we’ll have a new steak out ASAP.  

A few minutes later, a new filet is brought to the table, the man cuts it, it is a perfect medium rare. 

The man then asks if he can get a new bowl of mashed potatoes because his are ice cold.  

Peter, didn’t hear him completely and said, were the potatoes cold when they came out?  He was trying to determine whether the potatoes were cold when they arrived or had gotten cold while they waited.  

At this point, I only have the server and Peter’s version of what happened.  But they both had the same story.

Seems the man was appalled at the question.  His wife was appalled at the question.  Their friends were appalled at the question.  

They began to berate Peter saying they’d never been treated so rudely in their life.  

Soon after, the man says that after being treated like this, he’s no longer hungry, shoves his plate aways and says he’s done.  

Peter does everything in his power to fix the problem but they are having no part of it.  

The steak is comped.  Dessert is offered.  There is no appeasing the table.

It gets better.

Peter was at the door when they left.

One by one each member of the party took turns berating, ridiculing and treating him horribly.  

One of the 6 year old’s, I mean 70 year old’s, called him Peter, Peter Pumpkin eater and told him what an idiot he was .

Another told him he was bad at his job and should not be in hospitality.

It went on from there.

All because of cold mashed potatoes.

Oh, and let’s not forget. 

They are locals.  

They dine here all the time.

They own a house on the water.

They never been treated so rudely in their life.

Peter’s behavior was unconscionable.

He was stunned.  

He was horrified.  

He spent the whole weekend thinking he’d done something wrong.  He felt that he’d said or done something to embarrass the restaurant or me, because I hired him.

Today, when I got to work, I stopped by the new restaurant and chef told me about the incident.  In true Chef fashion, his only comment was that the guest should have gotten new mashed potatoes with the presentation of the new steak.  

He told me to get Peter’s take first.  

And this is the story he told.  

I assured him he’d done nothing wrong.

I assured him that this was the world we lived in at our restaurant.  

I followed that up with, I bet you thought I was exaggerating when I told you my stories of being beaten up. 

He confirmed that I was right.

I assured him that he’d seen nothing yet.

The only criticism of the whole event for me, was that I wish he’d called me Sunday night after things were closed up.  

I could have talked him off the ledge.  I could have assured him that he did nothing wrong.  And I could have made his weekend a little more enjoyable.  

Seriously.  

What 70+ year old turns to name calling over cold mashed potatoes.  

What 70+ year old says they are a regulars when the last time they were in our restaurant was last February.  

And seriously, what the fuck does it matter you have a house on the water.  Does having an ocean view excuse your behavior?  Does having an ocean view diminish your ability to be nice?

I know this is not true, because some of the nicest people I know, have houses on the water.  And they seem to be able to act like a human being when interacting with the public.

I told him to prepare himself for the assholes, but know that the good people out weight the bad 10,000 to 1.  

PS.  I really don’t make these stories up.  They are all, very much true.  I don’t even embellish much because truthfully, I don’t need to. 

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

January 29, 2023.  

A thought from today.

Dear friends.

Dear employees.

Dear friends of friends.  

Dear people who come to my restaurant.

IT.  

IS.

NEVER.

OKAY.

TO.

TELL.

SOMEONE.

THEY.

NEED.

TO.

LOSE.

WEIGHT.  

I know you mean it with kindness. I know you think you are doing me a favor.  

But.  

It’s not like I don’t to look in the mirror when I brush my teeth and comb my hair in the morning.

It’s not like I didn’t buy pants at the big and tall store before I left for Argentina.

It’s not like I don’t step on the scale occasionally.

It’s not like I haven’t battled my weight since puberty.

It’s not like any of this is a fucking surprise. 

If you want to be nice, just say it’s great to see you. You look nice in your new pants. I like that shirt. Did you get a haircut.

Anything about my weight is off limits.

AND.

It is NEVER.

NEVER.

NEVER.  

NEVER.

Okay to ask a person if they have ALWAYS been fat.  

This hasn’t happened in a while, but it still amazes me how often it happens.

Those exact words.  

Have you always been fat or did you grow up thinner.

I don’t know dude. Have you always been rude or did you learn that skill as an adult.

Seriously, so many times.

One time by a guest who was staying in my apartment in NYC. Sitting on my sofa. While I tried, valiantly to focus on drafting a light plot.  

One time by a female friend of friends, who was chunky herself.  

Fun fact.

I have not always been fat.  

In fact, there was a time in my life that I was known as Hot Jeff.

No lie.  

But you want me to tell you a little secret.  

I’m so much happier where I am today than I was during that period.

In fact, my boyfriend at the time dumped me because I’d gained 25 pounds my first quarter of grad school.

No lie.  

Now I eat the food.

I eat the short ribs. And the mashed potatoes. And the homemade yeast rolls.  

And I don’t stress over it.

And sometimes I eat the salad. And the steamed vegetables. And the fresh fish.

Adam makes all of these things for me.

He makes them with love and if you’ve ever had the pleasure of eating his food, then you know he is a fucking awesome cook.  

But I don’t worry about it.  

I own it. I’m a middle aged, (approaching senior citizen) overweight gay man with a belly and grey hair.  

And I’m happy.

I no longer get up at 5:00 a.m. to go the gym.  

I no longer say no to dessert.

I no longer say no to the bourbon. Or the beer. Or the wine.

I bought a swim suit for Buenos Aires because for years I wouldn’t swim because I was fat.  

Fuck that. I swam almost every day.  

I also post photos of myself on line. For years I thought if I didn’t post the photo then I really wasn’t fat.

I deprived myself for long.

So.

No. I wasn’t always fat.  

Yes, I could probably afford to lose 100 pounds.  

Yes, I wish I could wear a size 32 pants again.

Yes, I wish I could wear a medium shirt again.  

But I would never want to go back to being that person.

I’m authentic now. So much more so than I ever was 25 years ago. 

What you see is really, really what you get. I don’t put on airs much any more.  

I’m sincere.

And honest.

I live my life proudly.

I did’t realize I was miserable, until I discovered real happiness.

So.

Thank you for your concern.

But I’m good.  

Trust me on this. 

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Tonight around 5:30 a server comes up to let me know that table 33 is upset that we don’t list our non-alcoholic drinks on the menu.  

She explained that we have Coke products, coffee,  make an array of mocktails, and we have 1 non-alcoholic beer.  

This does not make them happy.  

They launch in to a speech about how it’s unfair that we don’t offer non-alcoholic wine.  

So many other restaurants in town offer it and we should as well.

OH.  NO.

This couple has been in three times before.  And every time they are there, they aggressively tell me how unfair it is that we don’t offer non-alcoholic wine.  

I suppose it would be nice if we did.  

Like it would be nice if we served gluten-free bread.   And impossible burgers.  And chicken parm.  And frozen strawberry daiquiris.  And American coffee.  And bearnaise sauce.  And baked potatoes.  And blackened salmon.  And deluxe cheeseburgers.  And chicken fingers.  And pasta with butter.  And our flourless chocolate cake warmed.  And ½ glasses of wine.  And Mich Ultra.  And clam chowder.  And a salad entrée.  And protein on a house salad.  And a grilled cheese.  And pulled pork.  And a Argentine dip.  And rotisserie chicken.  And only charged 29.99 for a ribeye.  And buttered filet.  And had A-1 on our tables.  And had a create your own salad, based on an ingredients list. 

I could type for the next 24 hours about the items people think should be on our menu.  

I just did a quick look and there are currently around 35 commercial real estate sites available that were formerly restaurants of some sort just in Portland.  

Do you know what that means? 

You could open up a restaurant that serves non-alcoholic wine.  And gluten free bread.  And impossible burgers.  And frozen strawberry daiquiris.  And American coffee.  And bearnaise sauce.  And baked potatoes.  And blackened salmon.  And deluxe cheeseburgers.  And chicken fingers.  And pasta with butter.  And warm flourless chocolate cake.    And ½ glasses of wine.  And Mich Ultra.  And clam chowder.  And a salad entrée.  And protein on a house salad.  And a grilled cheese.  And pulled pork.  And a beef dip sandwich.  And a rotisserie chicken.  And you can set the prices to be whatever you want them to be.  And have buttered filet.  And an assortment of condiments.  And a salad bar.  And even fucking Sunday brunch. 

You seriously could do whatever the fuck you wanted.  

But don’t go to a place of business and tell them what they should and shouldn’t have.  Even if you think you are being helpful.  

I get that you don’t drink.

But I’ve been in the restaurant business in Maine for 10 years and in that time only 2 people have asked for non-alcoholic wine.  The two of you.

And.

We don’t need a wider selection of non-alcoholic beer either.  

Why you ask?

Because we actually only serve the beer to appease like 20 people.

In the summer when we serve close to 400 people, we’ll often do about 300 dollars in beer sales.  Wine and cocktails knock it out of the water. 

We are not a beer restaurant.  We sell almost as much soda and coffee as we do beer.

So please don’t trap me at the host stand and spend 30 minutes forcing your opinion on me.  And it really was 30 minutes.  I was supposed to me in my car at 6:30 to join Adam at his work holiday party.  I got in my car at 6:55.  

Because.  

You were unrelenting. 

PS.  You could bring your own.  We offer a corkage fee.  We’ll be happing to open the bottle and pour it for you.  Especially if it’s non-alcoholic.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I have been on the floor as a manager for the past 3 weeks.  It’s been great.  I’ve actually been able to see what happens in the restaurant as opposed to being stuck at the front door hosting.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’d love to just be a host.  It’s my favorite part of my job.  But alas there is so much more to what I do.   

On Saturday night I made my way to the door around 9:00.  All our reservations were in.  We’d seated our last guests at 8:30. I was checking in with my new manager, since I’d sent the host home.  Its winter, gotta save money.  

I get to the host stand just as a foursome starts out of the dining.  

As they enter, one of the men says, I have the worst swamp ass ever.  

His female friend replies, that she didn’t need to hear that.

I say, well I guess I walked up at just the right time.

All four of them laughed.

I then said, I have Gold Bond powder in the office if you’d like some.

The man with the swamp ass almost fell on the floor laughing.  His friends laughed as well.

He finally said, he thought he could wait till he got home.

We are a full-service restaurant.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Hello, thanks for calling the restaurant, how may I help you?

Hi.  Is this Jeff?

Yes it is?  How may I help you.

Yes, I’m calling to introduce myself.  My name is Jason Smith and I know that you are friends with Adam who manages at a different restaurant and you used to work for David.  I’ve know David for years.  I’m calling because I’m going to be making a reservation in the coming weeks and I felt it was important for you to know who I am.  I live up north and I have an office in Portland, and I come down all the time and eat in Portland at all the restaurants.  I have an office in NYC and I used to go down to the city all the time, but I’m retired now, but I still have my office in NYC and Portland, because sometimes you just need to get to civilization.  My friend has been to your restaurant and has absolutely raved about it.  And he keeps telling me I need to make the trip, but because I live up north, I never get down that far, but I want to put a dinner at your restaurant on the calendar.  It’s a little far for me and my wife, but my friend has told me over and over and over and over that I definitely need to make the trip.  So I think we will make a reservation in the coming months.  Where do you suggest we sit?  I hear that you have an amazing bar.  But my friend says that the dining room is also nice.  We might come in the summer, do you have a patio?  Is is nice?  Is it hot?  Do you have mosquitos?  And what should we order?  I can’t find a menu on line but, my friend says you do steak very well?  Do you have steak?  What kind?  Do you have seafood?  My wife is more a seafood person.  I like steak if it’s good steak.  Yes, I know who you are.  Your reputation speaks for itself.  Anyone who is a friend of Adam’s has to be a good guy.  When I googled you, I saw a photo of you and Adam and a very lovely woman.  Who was that?  You were all dressed up in the society page.  You were wearing a bowtie.  How excellent.  So should I call you directly when I’m ready to make my reservation.  My name is Jason and I like to get to know people before I come to visit them.  I make these calls even when I’m dining in NYC.  I’ve been going to Portland for years and everyone knows who I am.  I couldn’t find a menu online.  Do you have a menu online?  How can I see a menu.  Did I mention that I’m retired but I still go to Portland to visit my office.  It used to be across the street and I see everyone.  Now it’s less busy downtown and I don’t see as many people.  How long did you work for David?  He’s a great guy.  Known him for years.  How long have you been at your current job?  Do you like it?  Do you know the Smiths?  I hear they come to eat there often.  Well, I need to get going.  I’m going to make a reservation next month, so now you’ll know who I am.

Thanks for chatting.

Whew.  

I am exhausted.

The actual words are different, but the gist of the conversation is absolute true.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Server edition!!!

M*RIC*N. (Spanish word for derogatory gay insult).

I’d put the little accent mark over the “o” but I don’t know how.

It translates into “FA**OT”

Which translates into me hating the word.

With a passion.

I’ve always hated the word f*g. I don’t know why.

I don’t toss it around with my friends.

“Hey f*gg*t what are you up to?”

I don’t like when they toss it around with me.

I don’t like it used at all.

Even with gay men often it is a derogatory word.

“He’s such a f*g.”

I especially don’t like it when someone who is not gay uses it.

Even joking.

I also don’t like the word M*RIC*N.

It’s derogatory.

Imagine my surprise when I’m standing in the kitchen ringing up an order on Monday night and I hear a manager say “blah, blah, blah, M*RIC*N. He was calling one of the kitchen guys a f*g.

This is not the first time I’ve heard the word in the kitchen. It is in fact not the second.

What was surprising was that it was a manager.

It pissed me off.

I went to my manager on duty and told him that if I heard the word again out of the kitchen I was going to make one hell of a stink about it. He wanted to know who said it and when I told him it was a manager he said he’d talk to him.

I said great and went back to waiting tables.

About 15 minutes later my manager comes up to me and says, “The manager says that’s not what he said. He says that it’s a miscommunication and my not knowing Spanish didn’t allow for the correct understanding of the word.”

I asked my manager if the manager would be saying the same thing if I went into the kitchen and miscommunicated the n word.

My manager said that I had a point and that the manager would be coming out to speak to me.

At this point I’m really pissed off.

I didn’t misunderstand anything. I’ve heard the word m*ric*n before. And I was not the only one there. I turned when I heard it and our lead host was in the kitchen getting something to drink.

She happens to speak Spanish. I asked her if I’d heard what I thought I’d heard. She assured me that I’d heard correctly.

After my manager told me what the manager said I went back to the wait station and started asking my Spanish speaking co-workers what the meaning of m*ric*n is. None of them knew of a different meaning. I asked them all.

Now I’m really pissed.

I’m in the wait station and the manager comes up to me and asks me if he can talk to me.

We step into the back hallway.

He says:

I don’t know what you thought you heard. But I didn’t say m*ric*n as in f*gg*t. I said m*ric*n as in “m*therf*cker”. They sound the same but if you speak Spanish then you could tell the difference.

I AM FUCKING FURIOUS NOW!!!

I told him to drop the act. I wasn’t stupid. I know what he said, and I know what it meant. I also told him, not so calmly that I’d asked every single Spanish person working if I could have misconstrued the meaning of the word and I was assured that there was no other word that sounded similar and it didn’t have another meaning.

He protested again, getting heated.

By this time we are just short of yelling at each other.

I finally say, “FINE. WE’LL HAVE A LITTLE MEETING WITH our new gay general manager AND PERHAPS YOU CAN TEACH HIM THE NUANCES OF SAYING M*THERF*CKER AND F*GG*T.

And I walked away.

I probably shouldn’t have made such a big deal out of it. But it rubbed me the wrong way. And I think it’s inappropriate. Period. And as a gay man I shouldn’t have to deal with people throwing the word around as some sort of insult, especially at work.

I didn’t talk to the GM. I went to work and acted as nothing had happened. The manager was there and I worked with him. He didn’t mention it either.

I realized tonight what pissed me off most about the manager’s response.

He thought I wasn’t smart enough to know that he was lying. I may be a “m*ric*n” but I’m not stupid.

And

It’s never alright to call someone a f*gg*t or m*ric*n.

Gay or straight.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

A woman called at 3:00 asking about the bar. She was told that reservations aren’t required but are highly recommended as we can’t guarantee availability as we do take reservations at the bar.  

She makes the reservation, without being able to tell us if she’ll be 1 or 2 people.  

We make the reservation for 2.  

2 guests at the bar at 6:00.  

At 5:45 the phone rings and it’s her saying that she wants to push the reservation to 6:30. I make the change.  

She arrives at 6:45.

She walks in and takes one look at the bar and says, well I guess it’s a good thing you made me make a reservation. The bar is empty.

I assure her that this time of the year there is no rhyme or reason. If she’d come last night it would have been full.

She tells us that she’ll only be 1 and gets seated at seat 10.  

She was cranky, but not terribly so and I don’t think more about it.  

Fast forward to 8:00.  

I’ve had dinner with Chef at the chef’s table and I get up to go to the restroom and get my computer to do some work.

I return and the woman from the bar is seated at the chef’s table.  

I drop off my computer and go to the wait station. I’m not going to interrupt whatever is going on.  

I watch the conversation from 30 feet away or so. She is animated. I can’t tell if she is mad or flirting. Both things happen with Chef often.  

After about 15 minutes, I text him to see if he needs help or rescuing.  

I see him check his watch, chuckle, but doesn’t indicate he needs saving.  

Finally she leaves.  

I take my seat and he fills me in on what happened.  

She was upset that we don’t allow walk ins at the bar. She lives up the street and thinks it’s silly that she and her friends can’t just stop by for a cocktail. She doesn’t understand why we take reservations at the bar.  

He explains. We’ve learned that if we take reservations, most people at the bar dine with us. So instead of having 2 $14 dollar cocktails, they order 2 cowboy cut ribeyes and their check is $200. He continues, that with people spending that kind of money they don’t want people reaching over them to get a cocktail. And if we allow them to stand along the rail, the staff can’t get through, which isn’t good either.

She’s having none of this.  

I get it.  

I get yelled at 1,000 times during the summer, because I tell people they can’t get a cocktail while they wait. No. You can’t get one and stand over there. You can’t get one and stand over here. You are going to be seated in 5 minutes and you’ll be fine.

He graciously changes the subject and explains the pub at our new restaurant will be walk in only.  

This changes her tune.

And she quickly changes her tactics.  

I won’t go into all the details of what was said next, but she left after giving Chef her number, her address and telling him that her husband works out of town if he ever wants to stop by for a drink.

Go Chef.

However, he’s not new to this and it’s a small town and he knows better than to mix business with pleasure.  

I can assure you he no longer has the piece of paper she wrote on.  

However, he was flattered. She was attractive. With a rock the size of Texas on her hand.  

This business is never boring. 

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I got a very interesting email tonight at work.

I’ll get to that in a moment. 

Adam and I dine out a fair amount in town.  I wouldn’t say a lot because we most often save dining out for when we are out of town.  And.  Our schedules don’t give us a lot of time together and we like to enjoy the home we are paying for, so we usually stay home and Adam cooks.  

That being said, we do eat out occasionally.  

When we do eat out, we go about reservations the normal route and book them online.  

Occasionally, we will reach out to the manager, if it’s truly someone we actually know and have a relationship with.  This rarely happens.  In fact, we both go out of our way to NOT do that.    

The point I’m making is NEITHER of us would ever dream of calling up a local restaurant and saying Hi, I’m Jeff, I’m the manager of Applebee’s and I’d like a reservation on Saturday night.  

We would never, ever, ever, ever do this.  

EVER.

Now back to the email.

Someone emailed me tonight for a reservation on Saturday for a party of 12.  At 7:00.  Then dropped the detail, that they are a manager for a local restaurant, making it seem that somehow this would be some magical reason to make this work.

If you email me, you get the same response as everyone.  EVEN Chef’s friends follow my guidelines for a party over 8.  I set the price.  I set the time.  They adhere to the rules.  In fact this past Friday night, we hosted a party of 26 for friend of Chef’s and I set the price and I set the time.    

I’d be happy to help you.  NOT because you are in the business, but because I want to help everyone.  

I’m amazed at how many people think I just say no to say no.  

But what about this table?  Or that table?  Or this area?  Or that area?

My whole job is based around making decisions that increase the revenue of the business.  I’m never going to say no to someone when saying yes brings us increased business.

So tomorrow, I’ll cut and paste the same email I send to everyone, offering times that work for us.  And a pre-fixe menu that we require of everyone.  

And I truly hope they book.  I really do.