I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

This one is fast and easy.  I have been down a rabbit hole tonight, that I can’t wait to share with all of you…but that day is not today.  

The two-week Christmas celebration in our little town is over.  

As I like to say, businesses do summer numbers with winter staff.  The masses come to town, they spend a lot of money, we all stress out and not one business in a 50-mile radius is sad when it’s over.  

It ended for us tonight around 11:00 when the last two-top left.  

I have to say that I am very glad.

As for me, I have 6 more working days, until we close for a much needed, much deserved winter break. 

Normally, the restaurant is closed for about 2 weeks just for Xmas and New Year’s.  This year we are closed for 23 glorious, GLORIOUS, days. 

The time off will be well spent.  

In the meantime.  

Prelude is OVER!!!

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

We open our doors religiously every day at 4:50.

Our hours are posted as 5-Close.

But we open early.  

Except today.

Today, was the exception.

Because at 4:55 today, the entire staff.  Owner, Chef, GM, Servers, Bartenders, Cooks, Dishwashers, Hosts, were all gathered around the TV’s in the bar watching Argentina play soccer.

I asked at 4:50 what time Chef wanted to open.

He replied, NOT UNTIL THE GAME IS OVER!!!

It ended at 4:57. Thankfully, Argentina won, because everyone would have been in a bad mood otherwise.

When we opened the doors, everyone came in excited about the outcome of the game.  

It’s exciting stuff.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

One thing I have realized, is that so much of my life truly does revolve around hospitality.  

And I have discovered that there are so MANY stories to share.  

Some fun.  Some painful. Some educational.  Some just are good stories.  

One such story.

In 1992, I was in grad school at the University of Kentucky, getting an MA in theater.  I was in my fourth year there as a grad student.  In a 2- year program.  

Actually, my classwork had been done for 2 years.  I started in 1989, and finished at the end of the 1990-1991 school year.  All I needed to do was write my thesis.  Which didn’t require much.  A one-page paper about something or other.  The degree was production based.  

However, I’d been told my whole life, and I do mean my whole life, that I was a bad writer.  I was embarrassed to turn anything in.  Instead, I kept working in the department as a designer, adjunct, painter, TD, electrician, carpenter, etc. to keep putting it off.  

I’m not exaggerating.  The reason that I had not graduated, on time, was that I was afraid to turn my thesis in.  

My life was such that I work in the theater department during the day, and at night I bartend at the local O’Charley’s restaurant on Nicholasville Road.  I didn’t even ask to be a bartender there.  I applied to be a server, but the they didn’t need servers, they need bartenders.  When they ask if I could do it, I said OF COURSE, how hard could it be.  And presto, poof:  I was a bartender.  

For those not familiar, it’s what a friend used to call a brass and fern restaurant.   Lots of brass to polish at the end of the night, lots of ferns to water at lunch.   Most of the O’Charley’s were located in old Bennigan’s restaurants.  

This particular location, had a busy bar.  Especially Thursday nights which was 10 cent wing night, and all-night happy hour.  2-4-1 on all well drinks and draft beer.  For every beer ordered, I pulled 2.  Sometimes 30 or 40 at a time.  I served Miller Lite and Bud Light in 16oz plastic cups all night long.  These were the only 2 beers we had on tap and fun fact, NO ONE, AND I REPEAT, NO ONE could tell the difference in the 2 draft lines.  Trust me, I tested lots of people on this fact.  

Another fun fact:  My boyfriend at the time, would come in and eat at the bar several times a week.  No one, had any clue that he was my boyfriend.  He’d sit by himself, chatting with me, while I did my bartending thing.    

I digress.

So there I am bartending on the fateful afternoon of March 28, 1994.  

A day that will live in infamy for ANY ONE who was alive and well and living in Central Kentucky that day. 

Picture this:  

The University of Kentucky is ahead 103–102 with 2.1 seconds remaining.  

The energy in the bar is insane.  People are screaming.  They are yelling.  There is no way in hell that Duke can get a ball to the other end of the court and score in 2.1 seconds.  The game is ours. 

Duke called a timeout and drew up the final play where Grant Hill would throw a long pass to Laettner at the opposing foul line. Hill’s 79-foot pass found Laettner at the opposite foul line, and Laettner dribbled once to his right, then turned back to his left and shot a turnaround jumper over Feldhaus just before time expired. The ball swished through the net as the buzzer sounded, giving Duke a 104–103 victory.

There is a moment of silence when things like this happen.  Where you can hear a pin drop.  Where the air in the room stands still.  Everyone stops breathing.  No one’s heart is beating.  

Then there is a collective inhale and all hell breaks loose.

The bar exploded in terror as people began to curse, and shout, and scream their dismay.

A good 50% of the people who are reading this right now, probably experienced this live.

But here is where my experience and your experience probably differ.

About 7.4 seconds after the shot.  About 5.2 seconds after the buzzer.  About 3.6 seconds after the room realized the outcome. 

A whole section of my bar started to scream that Laetner was a f*g.  

A f*gg*t. 

It was not 1 person, or a couple of people.  It was 20 or 30.  Many of them were my co-workers.  

It went on for what seemed like forever.  

I sat there, in my own dismay, but it was no longer about the game.  I no longer cared about the score.  The game.  The outcome.   

Such hatred.  Such outrage.  Such vile, disgusting words.   

Their hatred was so intense.  The hatred, that they’d surely have for me, if they knew that the kid who comes in on Thursday night, for wings, was my boyfriend.

In what was probably less than 30 minutes, the bar was empty.  

I got a clean towel and started putting the room back together.  Wiping up the stale beer from the bar rail.  Filling my ice wells for the evening.  Re-stocking liquor.  Emptied a bus tub.  I closed all the checks.  

An hour later, it was just me and a server. 

The game was over.  

The score was not in our favor.

The score was not in my favor.  

 A day that would live in infamy.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Last night, a friend from high school, shared with me a link to a new book, written by a Maitre‘d.  He wrote the book, sharing stories of his encounters in NYC, in some of the nicest, of the nicest restaurants.  

He finished by saying that he really thought I should compose my stories into a book.  He also shared that I should include my 9/11 story in the publication.  

I have been told this several times.  

I think it’s there.  But as I told him, I have really figured out an in.  

A hook.

A direction.

A focus.

I sit down to write.  And most of the time something comes.  

Sometimes, I think it’s funny and engaging.

Other times, I re-read the story the next day and am embarrassed that I hit publish.  

Full confession:  It’s late when I write.  I don’t spend a lot of time editing.  I read through the post once or twice and hit publish.  

My 9/11 story has been written for more than 10 years and every single year, I read something and change it to make it sound better to me.  

I always chalk up what I do, like an artist who creates a painting a day for a year.  I’ve only been posting for 18 months and have 635 posts.  

That being said. 

I’ll continue to look for an angle.  A hook.  An in.  

And when I do, I won’t share it with you, I’ll just let you know when you come to my book signing.  

PS. If anyone has a suggestion, please share because I’ve yet to figure it out.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

On Facebook, I belong to a group that focuses on Broadway shows.

Surprise, surprise.  

A couple of weeks ago, someone said, I am Mormon and did the missionary trip.  Do you have any questions about Mormon Missionaries from watching Book of Mormon.  

I asked, rather politely, if the Mormon church had changed their stance on gay people yet, like they did with people of color in the 1970s.  

The kid who asked the questions, tried to be genuine and courteous and said all the right things.  Including, sharing a link to the recent story, that the church was no longer going to fight marriage equality.  

All was good, until I ask if they support gay people, or is it still you can be gay just don’t have gay sex. 

And then suddenly it was all love the sinner, hate the sin.  

Love the sinner, hate the sin is continuing to care about your Uncle Bob when he gets his 17^th DUI.  

Love the sinner, hate the sin is loving your Uncle Brett after he embezzles 5 million dollars from a charity for poor people.  

Love the sinner, hate the sin is supporting your father when his company gets convicted on tax evasion.

You absolutely, DO NOT LOVE me if you can’t support my relationship, my home, my children, my life without pointing out that I’m a sinner because I have gay sex. 

Nope.  You don’t love me at all.  

AND.

PS.

I’d bet all the money my father owes for tax evasion, that the reason the church is changing its status on marriage equality is that young people are leaving their church as fast as they are all the other churches because of their narrow views of social issues.  

I told the kid they’d have to walk back a long way to recover from the damage they did from Proposition 8 in California.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Hello thank you for calling how may I help you?

Yes, I’d like to know if you have any reservations available for Sunday night?

Of course, for how many people?

Wait just a second while I count.

I waited 90 seconds and hung up.  

Fun fact:  When you call to make a reservation you need to know the following:

The date:

The times that work for you:

The number of people that will be joining you:

These are absolutes.  

The more you know.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

It’s a full moon.

And oh boy was it in effect tonight.  

It should have been the easiest of easy nights.

We were quiet. 

The staff was in a great mood.

Chef was in a great mood.  

I was in a fucking great mood.

But alas. 

The night started with a 5:30 reservation for 6 arriving at 5:05.  

They walked in and immediately told me where they were sitting, who was waiting on them, and essentially how the night was going to go.

They insisted that I seat the 6 of them at table #24 which is a five top. 

I explain that this can’t happen, because table #24 is a five top.  

They tell me that they WON’T sit in table #14.

I explain that that’s a good thing because they aren’t supposed to sit there.

They then demand that no matter where they sit, they get Jen or Lorrie as their server.

I explain that that can’t happen because Lorrie and Jen aren’t waiting on the table where they ARE sitting.  

They finally agree to go look at the table.

This is my favorite.  I’m 102 and never, ever, ever have I told a host that I wanted to walk through the restaurant, to take a look at a table, to decide if I want to sit there.  

But off they go.

The 16 year-old who has led them to the table is back in 14 seconds to let me know they aren’t pleased.  Aren’t pleased at all.  

(She tells me later, that she tried to say something to the woman who made the reservation and was told to shut up she wasn’t being addressed).

I tell the 16 year-old to bring them back to the lobby.  I will seat them at the table they insisted they didn’t want. But I’ve just sat that server two tables so they’ll need to wait.

They get to the lobby, full of huffing and puffing.    

The lady in charge says, I’ve never seen a restaurant so inflexible.  

Her friend says, loud enough for everyone to hear, I told you we should have cancelled our reservation and gone someplace else.

I interrupt and say, I’ll gladly cancel your reservation without penalty if you’d LIKE to go someplace else.  

By this time the lobby is filled with three or four more tables.  All people I know, all people who are glad to see me.  I’m getting handshakes, I’m getting hugs.  

One group of four has witnessed the whole exchange, and are intrigued by the behavior. 

The ladies get settled on the couch waiting.  Everyone else gets seated.

By the time 5:30 rolls around and it’s time for the them to finally get moved to their table, at least three or so more tables have walked in, with big hellos for me.  

It’s now 5:35. Everyone is seated.  

And now comes all the people I’ve seated, wanting to know exactly what the fuck that was. 

It’s food.  It’s a great restaurant.  How are you so miserable if it’s Christmas and you are here.  Isn’t she a business owner in town, she should know better.  Do you get treated like that often?

The four top that witnessed the whole exchange, actually commented on how polite I was, while saying that if they wanted to go somewhere else, it would be okay.  

The rest of the night was full of compliments.  

Two tables I don’t remember seeing before told me one of the reasons they come back is for my smile at the door.  

And then 8:00 rolls around.

I finally go pee, after waiting 2 hours.  

When I get back there are 3 people without a reservation, waiting to be seated.

The man’s face changes when he sees me.

According to the server who was watching the door, he was perfectly pleasant.  Then I arrived and he got aggressive.  He wanted to sit where he wanted to sit and let know that in no uncertain terms.  

Turns out, he was still pissed from showing up without a reservation three weeks ago, and having to sit at the end of the bar, instead of in the middle where he wanted. 

They are seated.  

The night ends.

At 10:15, because the 8:00’s always arrive late, and sit forever.

Oh.

And I almost forgot.

I’m standing at the host stand.  The phone rings, I answer, see a server out of the corner of my eye, and he says to me, a woman in the dining room is choking.

I won the 100 meter dash tonight.  I was in the dining room in about 3.4 seconds, yelling what table.

By the time I got there, a nurse had given the woman the Heimlich.  And she was okay.  

I checked on everyone.  All was well.  She was just embarrassed.  

And this in my very long post, is a reminder that if you are choking, fuck being embarrassed. 

It’s better to be embarrassed than dead.

PS. It was a piece of broccoli.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

The phone rings, I answer and a man on the other end of the line says, Hi, I’d like to make a reservation please.

I ask for the date and time.

He says, tomorrow at 6:00, for 4 people.  

I say great, can I get your phone number starting with the area code.

He says, 555-5555.

I realize that he has not given me the area code.

I stop and say, can I get the area code please?

And he gets angry and says, it’s 207, I told you I live here.

Well honey.

My little machine that I use requires me to put the area code in, whether you live here or not.

And.

I live here too, and my area code is not 207.  

In fact, as it turns out the friends you are dining with tomorrow, live here as well, and their area code is NOT 207.  

And it really doesn’t cost you anything to be nice.

PS.  After you hung up, I remember who you are.  You were the very nice party that on Saturday night, one of the busiest night of the fall/winter, stayed almost 3 hours at the bar when you were told when I seated you that I needed the chairs back by 7:15. I made it work for me, but the bartenders didn’t appreciate losing three 2-tops I pushed into the dining room in order to accommodate them.  

I’d like to speak with the manager!!!

I answer the phone today, and a woman on the other end of the line wants to know if she needs to make reservations to come in.

As always, I said, they are not required but even on slower nights we recommend them, as there is no guarantee that you’ll be able to just walk in.  

I ask her if she’d like to make a reservation.

She says, yes.

For how many?

Two people she says.

I follow up with, would you prefer a table, or seats at the bar.

She replies, I’ll wait and decide that when I get there.  

???????

I tell her I missed what she said.

She repeats, we’ve not been to your restaurant, we’ll decide where we want to sit when we get there.

I explain that that can’t happen.

She immediately wants to know why not.

I gently try to explain that it takes a bit of planning for the evening, so we must know where everyone is going to be seated.

She doesn’t like this, but chooses a table.

I make the reservation.

Two people tonight, 6:30, in the dining room.  

All set!

She called and cancelled at 6:15 tonight. 

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

When I got to work today, Chef had sent me a copy of this post from our Facebook page. 

Come join us for December’s book club! We are reading The Last Thing He Told me by Laura Dave. We will meet at 6pm. Parking is limited so grab a pal and carpool.

Registration will be limited due to the small size of the restaurant so please RSVP as soon as possible. Registration will close 12/8. If there is a large enough interest, we will move from the restaurant to a member’s home (still with delicious food- rest assured!)

Contact _______ with any questions and to RSVP! You can dm us to RSVP, too! 

Seriously.

There is no date, so we have no idea when to expect them, or how many to expect.  

Also, we really aren’t the book club sort of restaurant.  But then again, I’d ask what restaurant wants a group to come sit for three hours and discuss a book.