I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Server Edition!!!

Tonight around 11:30 I was working trying to get through the end of the night.  I picked up money for a check.  Went to the wait station and counted out the change, put the money back in my pocket, dropped off the change and went to the bar to pick up drinks.  When I got to the bar, I did what I often do and put my hand in my pocket.  And my money was not there.  I panicked.  I went running toward the wait station and as I turned to go in someone yelled my name.  I looked back and there was a trail of money all over the floor.  Several of us picked up the money as quickly as we could.  Picture one of those machines that’s blowing the money around and you are grabbing it as fast as you can.

I get all the money back in my pocket and go back to work.  About 30 seconds later I panic.  What if somehow we missed a twenty dollar bill, or a fifty or even worse a hundred.  Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.

I realized there was nothing I could do about it.  I just had to finish my shift and pray for the best.

Just a note to all you non-restaurant people out there.  Most waiters carry their banks in their pockets.  Not just their tips but all the revenue they’ve collected for the evening.  At the end of the night they run a report.  The report totals up all your sales, from that amount it subtracts your credit card payments and then you get a total due.  You give the restaurant it’s cut and what ever is left is yours to keep.  If by chance you lose your bank you are responsible for it.  So let’s say I hadn’t found my money tonight.  I would have had to cough up all the money I owed out of my own pocket.  To put this in perspective as to how much money we are talking about.  I’ve had to pay as little as a couple of hundred dollars.  And one night I had over 2300 dollars in my pocket.  It’s a little scary when you think about it.

So as soon as I ran my report.  Before I’d even finished my side work or gone to the office where everyone else was doing their cashout, I counted my money.   I owed the restaurant 900 dollars even.  I had 927 dollars in my pocket.  I counted again.  And again.  And again.  And again.

FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK. FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.

I counted one last time and realized that basically my whole night had been a waste of time.

I went in to the cash out office, pulled out a chair, plopped down in it and started doing my paperwork.  As I was doing it I told everyone in the office what had happened.  They were all very compassionate.  Not compassionate enough to offer me money, but nice all the same.  So I’m sitting there counting my money again and Melissa says, did you drop some money on the floor.  I look down and there’s about 50 bucks on the floor.  I assume in my despair I’d dropped it.  I count it all out again and now I have 975 dollars.  Perhaps I’m just stupid.  I count again.  And yep.  It’s 975.  So I made 75 dollars not 27.  Big fucking deal.  I stand up to go turn in my money and Nick, my fellow cocktailer says to me, “Yo fucktard.  You dropped your money on the floor again.”  I pick up the money and what do you know.  I now have 1045.  What the fuck.

And then I realize what has happend.

I’ve told you guys a lot about my restaurant.  Some of you by now even know where I work.  My restaurant is big.  There are 130 servers on the schedule.  With so many people and so many shifts and so much stuff to cover most of the time their is very little attention paid to our uniforms.   I should also say that as a rule, I’ve never met a waiter who has a clean uniform every day.  A clean shirt maybe.  But never new pants every single day.  Some of the people I work with wear the same pants for weeks at a time without washing them.  I know it sounds gross, but in the big scheme of things that would gross you out a lot less than some of the other things I could tell you about.  I have a pair of pants that I wear to work that I’ve had since I started.  They fit me better than most of my other pants so I wear them a lot.  I’ve worn them a couple of times this week and since there were no ranch dressing splashed all over them I decided to wear them again today.

Now the thing about the pants is that they are two years old.  And have been worn to hell and back.  The cuffs are ripped and torn.  The right side is bleached a lighter color because of the towel I carry.  And there are four of five holes in them that are mostly covered by my apron.  One of the holes happens to be a rip that is parallel to my right pocket.

So tonight I’d put my money in my pocket.

Only I’d missed my pocket and put the money in the hole in my pants that runs parallel to my pocket.  When I went running the money fell out of my pants leg.  I picked it up not realizing that there was more there.  When I sat down more fell out.  When I stood up to take my money to the cashier more fell out.  When I realized what was happening I shook my leg and a whole pile of bills fell out.

When it was all said and done I counted my money and although it was not as much as I’d have liked it to be it was a realistic amount based on my sales for the evening.

So.

Those pants are going in the garbage tomorrow.  And even though I don’t have any other clean pants, I’ll be scrubbing the ranch dressing off another pair so I have pants that are safe to wear to work.

I’ll take the money I didn’t lose tonight and buy new pants on Saturday.

Whew!!!!!!

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I’m in my 10^th year of being a GM.  

I have no idea how I got here.  An ex-employee of mine asked me that today.  

One day, I was cruising along as a server making a shit ton of money, and ten years later, I’m the BOSS, making a lot less money.  The bad guy.  The one everyone hates.

That being said, I love being a GM.  

I love my staff.  I love our guests.  I love guiding the restaurant.

Last night two tables, went out of their way to tell me how much better things were since I’ve taken over. One of them chatted with me like we’d known each other for years, and I had no idea who he was.  

Most of my efforts are done by doing the exact opposite of what so many managers I’ve had along the way have done.  

I worked at a restaurant in Kentucky for three weeks once.  

In the middle of a Saturday night shift, the GM, whose name was Karen, called us all into the walk-in.  About 15 of us.  She slammed the door and then began to chew us a new asshole.  She went on and on about how horrible we were doing our jobs.  How she was embarrassed to work with us, because we were so bad.  She then told the entire team, that if we couldn’t do our jobs then we needed to find a new career.

I quit about 5 days later.  Without notice.  

Then there was Mike.  AKA Cookie. 

He was great.  Until he wasn’t.  

Every day when you entered the restaurant, the first question was, Is Cookie working?  And that was followed by, What kind of mood is he in today?  

If he was in a good mood, the shift would be awesome.  

If it was a bad mood, then the whole night would suck for everyone.  

Then there was Allan, who randomly picked people to shit on.  He took over the server schedule about a year into my job, and decided that I was making too much money, so he cut my shifts and then stopped giving me the schedule I’d had for a year.  He eventually got fired.  

Then there was Beth, she’d just graduated from restaurant management school.  She was just great.  She had never worked in a restaurant in her life.  My second week of working at this new restaurant that happened to be fashioned after a 50’s diner, we were slammed after all but me and one other server were cut.  

She just kept seating the tables.  And seating them and seating them. 

You can ask anyone who has ever worked with me.  I AM A TABLE WHORE!!! Give me more and more and more.  At my last waiting tables job, I’d have a counter with 10 seats and 4 four top cocktail tables.  And I drove that shit like a pro.  

But I kept watching her seat the tables and seat the tables and seat the tables.  I looked around and every table in the restaurant, about 20 tables were seated.  

I was taking an order when she sat the table next to me.  She gave them menus and said, Jeff with be right with you.  I leaned over while taking the order and said, Actually I won’t.  It will be a long time before I get to you.  

She fired me for insubordination.  

My favorite manager story is Keith.  

Keith was special.  

He too had just graduated from restaurant management school.  He knew everything about everything.  

He was also dating a server at the time, which was a big no no.  I’m pretty sure they eventually got married and moved to Louisville.  PS.  This took place in Atlanta.  

Keith didn’t like me.  I have no idea why.  I will never know why.  

To back up before the day of the special event, we had just gotten a new tile kitchen floor.  The old floor was bad and the tiles were loose and missing.  The powers that be attributed this to pouring salt on the floor when there was a spill.  Supposedly, it eats away at the grout and causes the floor to fail.  However, every restaurant I’ve ever worked in does this…

Fast forward two or three weeks.  It’s a Friday evening.  We are busy.  Crazy busy.  I’m doing my thing.  I walk into the kitchen and the floor is soaked.  We get it mopped up and I pour salt on the floor so no one kills themselves.  

As I’m doing this, Keith comes into the kitchen and loses his mind.  

To this day, I’ve never been treated so badly by a manager.  

He begins to shout at me.  He tells me that I’m fucking stupid.  I’m a fucking asshole.  I’m a fucking this and a fucking that.  I’m ignoring him as I make 4 iced teas and place them on a tray.  

I start out of the kitchen and he follows me, using the word fuck every chance he gets.  I enter the dining room and he’s behind me with fuck this and fuck that.  

I go up three steps into my station and he’s still shouting at me.  

I turn around and he continues.  Finally, I’ve had enough and I say, you know what Keith.  Fuck you.  And I launch the tray at his head, with the four iced tea glasses still on it.  It smashes into the wall above his head.  

There is silence.  

He looks at me and says you are fired!!!  

This was before computerized POS systems.  And so, I pull out the tickets for the 5 tables I have and I rip them into a million pieces and I say, you figure out what the fuck everyone is eating and I leave.  

Fun fact:   My family was visiting from Kentucky and witnessed the whole exchange.

Was I proud? No.  But should anyone be spoken to like that.  Absolutely fucking not.  

I get into my car and I drive 15 miles to another restaurant with the same name.  I go in and ask for Reggie.  I tell him what happened and ask if I can work for him.  He says be back the next day at 4:00.  

Damn.  I was unemployed for 30 minutes.

I get there the next day and he tells me that I can’t work for him because I’m no longer allowed to work for the company.

Hmmmm.

I arrange a meeting with the GM of the restaurant I was fired from.  I tell her what happened.  

24 hours later the district manager calls to apologize and tell me that I can work at any of their other stores.  

2 days later a friend from the original store calls to let me know that the district manager had been in, called Keith into dry storage and chewed him a new asshole.  Everyone in the back of house could hear.  

The GM of that store later shared with me that at the GM’s meeting that month they were mostly upset that I missed his head when I threw the tray.    

I have a million of these stories.  

And the moral of these stories, is try to do the right thing.  At least try.  And don’t treat your staff like shit. And don’t tell them they are fucking stupid.  And don’t be mad when life happens to them.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Hello.

The first weekend of our Christmas celebration is in the books.

Truly the easiest of these I’ve done and this was my 6^th one.  

Tonight, was not as fun as last night.  I didn’t know many people who were in tonight.  No one was being fun.  And tables weren’t turning.  

But guess who did show up tonight?

Go on.  

I’ll wait.  

You guessed it.

Mable.

The one who said she didn’t make a reservation.  The one who’s reservation I cancelled because she said she hadn’t made one.  

Thank god she showed up with 5 people instead of 8 as we barely made that work.  

My host has no idea what happened.

I have no idea what happened.

We told Mable, and she has no idea what happened.  

Alas, it makes a great story, so we’ll go with that.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

While I was in NYC, I had our new host call all of our large party reservations for the weekend to confirm them.

She calls a girl we’ll call Mable.  She is a regular of sorts.

When she answers the host says she’s calling to confirm her party and Mable says:

Uh.  I don’t have a reservation for Saturday.   I never made that.   Surely it’s someone else’s reservation.

And here’s the thing.

I was the one who made the reservation.

She was in two weeks ago.

She stopped on her way out to make the reservation.  We had a conversation about the table she wanted, the server she wanted and I double checked in when she left.

In fact, I scolded a server about it, because the server said she’d be happy to wait on her, when it wasn’t possible to make that happen.

But when she was called, she denied ever making the reservation.

So.

Either I’m losing my mind.

Or.

She is gas lighting me.

Or.

She was really drunk when she was in last.  

I’m going to go with gas lighting.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

It’s late. 

Like 2:00 a.m. late.

I told myself on my drive home I’d be in bed by 1:00 a.m.

That has clearly not happened.

I had a day.  A fucking day.  

So.

Let me tell you about it. 

First, anyone on Facebook who reads these posts will already know this, but for the rest of you Adam and I made a quick trip to NYC on Monday.  We try to go once a year and get our theater fix.  

It was a great trip, filled with all the shows, all the food and all the stress you can imagine.

First.  

We argued about the path to take to NYC.  

I should have stuck to my guns because 15 minutes on the Merrick Parkway, we were rear-ended right in front of the police who had stopped to report on a different accident.  While we were waiting to be processed another car rear-ended a police officer on his way to assist.  It was a shit show to say the least.  

It also caused us to be behind schedule for our dinner reservations.  

But alas we made it on time. 

Fast forward 24 hours.

We are in a cab headed toward the theatre.  The cab driver seems to be taking the longest, slowest route possible.  We finally get 2 avenue blocks away, we insist he stop, we pay, and we sprint to the theater.  

Fun fact:  An overweight, middle-aged man approaching 60 should not run. 

Fun fact:  When an overweight, middle-aged man, approaching 60 sprints to a theater, he remembers why he stopped running in the first place. 

Fun fact:  My left knee was the size of Nebraska when I got up to leave the theater at the end of the show.  

For the next two days, I limped everywhere.  Adam was a champ, and kept telling me I was doing great, but even when you are now taking cabs everywhere, there is still so much walking to do.

Another fun fact:  Tough Mudders are easier to navigate than Broadway theaters.  The show we saw last night, we had tickets in the mezzanine.  We get there only to find out that the only restrooms are in the basement.  Down three flights of stairs.  Try doing that with a bum knee.  I was convinced I was going to tumble to the bottom any second.  I did not get up to pee at intermission.  It was just too much.  

Originally, we were supposed to drive to Boston on Thursday to see a show Thursday night.  But said show was cancelled.  

So, being the crazy people we are, we booked another round of tickets in NYC on Thursday.  We were going to drive back this morning, but I was worried about getting to work late today, so at 10:00 last night, we got into our car and headed north.  

The trip was uneventful. 

Until, we stopped to pick up my car at the park and ride.  I got into my car, turned the key and it went click, click, click.  

The fucking battery was dead.  

At fucking 4:00 in the morning. 

We drove home.  

We climbed into bed at 5:00 a.m.  

5.5 hours later the alarm went off.  

I took a $60 Uber 45 minutes away to meet AAA at my car to get a new battery.  The mechanic was waiting for me when I got there.  It should have taken 20 minutes, but he was a TALKER.  45 minutes later, I was on my way to work.

And the moral of this story is that with all of that, it was still a less stressful trip than my trip to Kentucky.  

With all of that, when I got to work, I was in the best of all moods.  

And it only got better from there.

The staff was in a great mood.  The chef was in a great mood.  The guests were in great moods.  

This weekend, is also the first weekend of the Christmas celebration in our little town.  About 10,000 people, if not more, sweep in to enjoy adult beverages, in the name of Jesus.  

I know we still have tomorrow to go, but universally, we all agreed that this was the smoothest, Christmas weekend had gone for all of us no matter what restaurant we’d worked in.  

One of my servers called me the Governor tonight.  

I literally floated around the dining room, shaking hands, welcoming people, and chatting about everything possible.  I knew about 50% of the people who came in tonight.  And the people I didn’t know are now new friends.  

The meatball lady was in. 

The service dog lady was in. 

The pilot was in.  

The real estate family was in.

I really knew so many people.  

And we didn’t turn anyone all day.  We found room for everyone who called.  I figured out a way to seat 5 people at the bar.  I said, yes, yes, yes all day.

It really was an amazing day.

So please.  Send good vibes that Saturday is equally smooth.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Today started off with a bang.

I didn’t get to bed until almost 5:00 a.m.

When the alarm went off, I said fuck that. I reset my alarm for an hour later and tried to go back to sleep.

I got up an hour later, now an hour late for work.

I get to work and find the bar filled with people who have come to watch the World Cup.

I set up in the quietest place I can find.

I start returning messages.

Message 2 is from Michelle. I call her.

She answers and says that she is looking for a reservation next Friday night.

The catch is, next weekend, is the big annual Christmas celebration in our town. We are 98% booked already.

I look for a place for her there is nothing. I tell her this.

She practically begs. In a comical way.

She says that she will be making meatballs and will bring me some if I find her a reservation.

I assure her that I wish I could help.

I hang up and go on with phone calls.

When I’m done, on a whim I take a second look for Michelle.

I’ve said since I started this job, that it’s hard to find a hole to put someone in when they are staring at you. I often ask people to step aside and give me a second to find a spot.

I equate it to The Queen’s Gambit where she solves the problems on the ceiling.

Today I realized that I could move a 2-top, then a 4-top and there you go. A reservation for Michelle next Friday.

I call her and give her the news.

She is beyond happy. I tell her that I am glad I could help. And that we will see her next Friday.

Fast forward to 5:30.

I’m standing at the host stand and we see a woman marching in carrying something.

I say wonder what this is?

A woman walks in and says, Are you Jeff?

I reply yes.

She says, I’m Michelle. I brought you some meatballs.

Seriously.

She hands me a lasagna pan covered with foil.

It’s still warm.

I can’t believe this.

She tells me that she is very grateful that I got her a reservation next week. She tells me that she’ll pick up her pan next week.

And with that she is gone.

We let it cool. Then put it in the walk-in.

At the end of the shift the kitchen warmed it up for us.

Turns out it was pasta and meatballs.

And it was delicious.

The staff loved it.

It was a very sweet gesture.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I mentioned that I hired 2.5 hosts.  

One of them was training tonight. I was letting her drive the bus, while I stood there and tried to not tell her how to do everything.  

The 2nd half of the night was quiet so we were engaged in getting to know each other.  

At one point she asked me what my favorite food was.  

I thought for a second and then said, while I like ice cream a lot, I don’t know that I have an absolute favorite food.

I went on to say that I like too many foods to choose just one.  

The tuna crudo at Adam’s restaurant is amazing.  

The steak tartar is amazing.  

The carpaccio at my restaurant is amazing.  

She then told me she could tell I was high maintenance.  

I protested, but she insisted.  

Then she changed high maintenance to elegant.  

I assured her that I was also pretty basic.

Because a Whopper with Cheese, and extra mayo is also amazing.  

Avocado egg rolls at The Cheesecake Factory are pretty fucking amazing.  

And a Sonic corn dog is also amazing. 

She continued to tease me.

I then told her that before I met Adam the most adventurous thing I’d ever eaten in the history of eating was escargot. I barely ate any seafood. Oysters I thought were gross. I refused to eat sushi because it was raw fish. Chicken liver mousse was beyond anything I’d ever put in my mouth.  

Today, bleu cheese and olives are really the only foods I don’t really like. And I’ll eat both of those things when it’s in a dish I order.  

Meanwhile, I’m going to see if we have any ice cream in the freezer. If not there a good chance we have some chicken liver mousse in there instead. 

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I was at the host stand tonight when a bartender came to let me know that he’d had a recook. A filet that the guest said was “too” medium.  

I’m not sure what that means, but okay. He lets me know that the chef is making her a new filet. 

The new filet lands at the bar.  

I’m actually, still at the host stand, looking into the bar area, when I see the bartender get called over. He speaks with the guest, and picks up the new filet.  

I meet him at the kitchen window.  

He lets me know that the new filet is closer to rare than medium.  

Chef lets him know that it will be out in just a couple of minutes and puts it back on the grill.

I stand at the window waiting. It should be no more than 4 minutes to get it up to the temperature that she wants, which I have been assured is medium rare NOT medium.  

I’m standing there when the bartender taps me on the shoulder and tells me to cancel the filet. The guest no longer wants it.  

I hate this game.  

We’ve waited too so we don’t want it any more. They do this if they wait for a table, if the kitchen is being slow, or the meal needs to be remade.  

We are NOT going to eat to prove a point.  

Sometimes, I can turn the scenario around by explaining that at this point, we are going to buy you the filet so if you don’t eat it, we are just going to throw it away.  

But so many times the guests still leave in anger. 

And here is the deal.

If you have waited too long to be seated, it’s usually a busy night. By the time you drive to a new restaurant, wait for a table in their busy restaurant, you might as well wait and let us make it up to you.

Same is true if your food takes an hour to get to you.

But alas, tonight there was no turning it around.

She lets me know that it’s her anniversary, and that the entire experience has been disappointing, from the cocktails, to the service, to the food. She absolutely has not intention of eating the steak.

I say to her, if you don’t eat it, at this point I’m just going to throw it away so please enjoy the filet.  

She says absolutely not, then launches into the fact that our bartender makes horrible drinks and then was rude to her when she pointed this out.  

I apologize for this.  

She lets me know that she is a regular, and that the service and experience that she has gotten is inexcusable.  

I apologize again, as I stand there holding her filet.  

She says to me, I’m not going to eat the steak, if you want to wrap it up for me that’s your business.  

Seriously.

17 seconds later, I dumped into the garbage.  

And went about my business.

For someone whose experience was so terrible, she and her husband stayed another 30 minutes.  

Of course, I’m at the door when they leave. I made a point of being there, because I didn’t want the host to bear the brunt of her anger.  

I’m greeting guests, when the guest comes into the lobby.

She looks at me with a death glare and I brace myself for the assault.

She asks if I’m the manager.

I assure her that I am.

She then says that she wants to discuss her experience with me.

I say okay.

She says, now?

I assure her that now is fine.  

There are two guests in the lobby. The chef’s son and his mom. They sit down on the couch and get settled like they have just decided to watch a movie in Imax.  

I have known this was coming for 30 minutes. I’m prepared for it. I remain calm. And actually gage my words much more than usual, so as to not appear rude, aggressive, or condescending.  

She starts.  

The entire experience was horrible.

She was given a drink that had no flavor and was flat.  

She told the bartender the drink tasted like it had no flavor and was flat and he said to her, maybe it’s because your taste buds are still getting over the meal you had last night.  

I say that I’m so sorry that that occurred, I will surely speak with him at the end of the night about how he spoke with her.  

She continues with the steak not being cooked correctly.

I apologize again, and let her know that I am sorry it wasn’t cooked correctly for her either time.

She then says, and then you comped the steak I didn’t eat, and the drink I didn’t like and that was all. I am never coming back. If you wanted us to return, you’d have comped the whole meal.  

I’m standing there, just staring at this point.  

I say, that of course I want them to return, but I’m not sure it warranted comping the entire check.

Fun fact: If they use the word comp, it’s not the first time this game has played out.

She says, but the bartender was rude to us.

I apologize again, and say that I will speak with him.

She repeats that that’s not enough.

I say, are you asking me to fire him? I can’t fire him in the middle of the shift if that’s what you’re proposing. We still have three hours of business to get through. I’m not sure what you are expecting me to do for you.

She then says again that I should have comped the meal.

I explain, that I can’t do that, and she lets me know she is never coming back and that I don’t seem to care.

The husband looks beaten. He tries to protest, but he is not a fighter. He just keeps saying that the bartender said something rude.

They finally leave.  

As promised, I checked in with the bartender at the end of the night.

He says, that it was two, NOT one drink that she sent back. And after the second drink was returned, he made a joke about her palette. This does not surprise me, as he has a dry sense of humor. Clearly the joke did not land. 

I’m still not sure what she wanted me to do.  

I was not going to comp the apps, the cocktails, and the wine that they had.  

I am not going to fire a bartender, who has worked with us for almost three years and is an exemplary employee over a bad joke. 

I bought her steak and drinks that she did not like.  

I know that we are in a service industry. But if the salesperson at Macy’s was rude to you, would you demand to get your shoes for free?  

McDonald’s employees in NYC are famous for being surly, but I’ve never gotten a free Big Mac.  

I also know that in my entire life, I’ve returned one drink. It was disgusting. And I was presented with the bill, with the drink still on the check. And I didn’t lose my mind. I paid the check. Knew it was a mistake. And have been back to that restaurant several times.  

Life is a series of experiences, some of them mistakes.  

How you choose to deal with them speaks volumes about who you are.

I remember a birthday dinner about 20 years ago, that I felt had a service issue, and I made a big deal out of it. I embarrassed myself and my friends.  

It’s one of those moments that still embarrasses me.  

And how do I atone for that behavior? By NEVER doing it again.  

When given a choice, take the high road. Every time.  

Choose to be accepting. It will change your life.  

It certainly has changed mine. 

Id like to speak to the manager!!!

Our guests arrived for our Thanksgiving gathering around 3:00 today. We had cocktails, and way too many apps while Adam finished dinner.

There was laughing. And dancing. And hugs. And stories. And warmth and love.

We sat down to dinner around 5:45.

Plates are full. Wine is poured. Pictures taken. Toasts made.

And just as I take my first bite I hear my phone that is in the kitchen ding. I have a text message.

I ignore it. There is love to share at the table.

I get up to get seconds and check my phone.

Surely it’s a loved one wishing me a happy thanksgiving.

Uh. No.

The message says: Can we get in this Saturday at 7pm for 8? Thanks Phil.

Seriously dude. It’s a fucking holiday. We are closed today. You couldn’t have reached out yesterday? Or tomorrow?

There are about 12 people with my cell. 11 of them are gracious. And thankful. And appreciative.

He is not one of them.

Their way of showing gratitude is by throwing money at me and the staff.

They will often give me a cash tip.

But fun fact.

I don’t expect it. Want it. Or need it.

Is it nice? Sure.

I am not nor have I ever been motivated by money.

A show of respect goes further.

A. Lot. Farther.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

A couple of weeks ago we had a VIP table in.  

Well, sort of VIP.  It was a group of business people, that are trying to convince our chef to go into business with them.  It would be 3 or 4 years from now if it happened.

Anyway.  

The table is seated, and the server approaches the table, asks if they’d like still or sparkling water. 

They order sparkling.  She returns.  

She sets one of the water bottles on the table so she can pour, and one of the men starts to pour the water into the wine glasses on the table.   

In 10 seconds every wine glass is full. 

Of water.

The water glasses are empty. 

She looks at the table and walks away.  

And immediately comes to tell me what happened.

The rest of the meal went off flawlessly.