I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

On a hot August night, a year ago, I had a table that received the bill for their dinner without their entrees on it.  

They told the server, the check was remedied, and given back to the guest.  

They called the server over and asked what their reward was going to be.  

The following exchange was the subject of my fourth ever Facebook, turned blog post. 

You can read about it here. 

https://id-like-to-speak-to-the-manager.com/2021/10/08/119/

Tonight, a server comes up and says, table 35 wants to know if there was a different manager here in 2020, because he had been rude to them when they came in for dinner.  

I ask if she is sure that it’s 2020 and she says yes, then goes on to summarize the subject of the blog.  She says to me that the woman has been back a couple of times, but her husband refuses to step one foot in the place. 

I laugh and ask her to let me know if they say anything else.

Fast forward to 9:15 or so and I’m talking to table 36 about their filet and watch the women sitting at the next table over and hear one of the say, that’s him.  That’s the asshole, as they get up to leave.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I’ve become more and more reflective over the past year about whether I handle a situation correctly or not. 

I can be very stubborn, anyone who knows me will tell you that.  

However, I am also open to learning, and hearing criticism.  

I’ve been having a conversation with myself since around 10:00 about whether I handled a situation correctly tonight.  

______________________

I’m at the host stand tonight when a server finds me and lets me know that table 36 had sent back her filet because it was underdone.  

I’m stuck at the door, but I thank her for letting me know.

She says, she also wanted to let me know that their food came out a little faster than she thought it would, so they were still eating appetizers when it arrived.  

I check in with her about how they are and she says they seem fine.  

_______________________

About 20 minutes later the server finds me again to let me know that as she checked in with them about how they are doing, they tell her they are upset about the filet.  I ask why, and seems that it was still not cooked enough when they brought it back out.  I ask if they want it cooked more and she says, no, there’s only a couple of bites left.   

I’m still stuck on the door so I tell her to offer them dessert.  

________________________

She appears about 90 seconds later to let me know they aren’t interested in dessert; they are demanding the steak be taken off the check.  

I ask if the steak is still on the table.  She tells me that it is.  

I go to the table and say, Hi, I understand that you are not happy with the filet.  

It dissolves pretty quickly. 

He points at the filet and says look at that.  Look at that.  Does that look like it’s cooked medium+. 

It is in fact not medium+. The three small bites that are left are a perfect medium rare.  

I understand his frustration, and say as much.

I say that we’d have been happy to cook the steak more when it came out.

He says, at these prices we shouldn’t have to ask for something to be recooked.  

I hate this statement. 

I don’t care where you are eating.  You should get what you pay for, but you should have to pay if you consume it.  

We’d have cooked a brand-new steak if we’d had to, but you have eaten the steak, and now you want it for free and that’s not how this works.  

I say to him, I truly wish you’d let us fix this before you had eaten it, because we would made it right, but unfortunately, you’ve eaten the steak and I’m not going to take it off the bill.

This does not go over well.

He starts to get louder and now it’s not about the steak, it’s about the service.  

He’s been here less than an hour, spending $400 on dinner, and we are rushing them out of the building. 

None of this is true. 

I apologize for this, but this is a common thing, we say no to one argument so you pivot.  

IF, you’d started with the service and the rushing, the conversation would have played out differently. 

I once again ask them why they didn’t ask to see me before they ate the whole steak.  

The man is getting more intense, and says, she didn’t want to make a scene.  She didn’t want to complain. 

I say, I would have been happy to fix it then, but she at the whole thing.

He says, that she didn’t enjoy it, he watched as she forced bite after bite down her throat.  

That’s a quote.

I should point out that the woman has not made a peep in this whole exchange.  In every situation, I’ve ever had if there are two people, they both get involved.  She is sinking into her chair and quiet as a mouse.  

He finally says, I’m not paying for the steak.

I say, we’ll unfortunately, that’s not how any of this works.  

He says, well I guess you can call the police then.

I say, well, I don’t want it to come to that, but if it’s what you want, I’ll be happy to let them sort this out.

Somewhere around now, he’s decided if the argument is not going to work, he’s going to intimidate.  He gets very stern and raises his voice, very much like a person who is used to getting his way.  Very.  Very intense. Louder.  And louder.  

I let him finish and say, sir, you are looking for a fight and I’m not going to engage.  You ordered a filet; we gave you a filet and you ate the filet.  You need to pay for the filet.  

He’s getting louder, but I’m not biting.  

I finally say one last time, that I wish they’d asked for the steak to be cooked a little more and then I leave. 

As soon as I walk away, they ask for the check and pay the tab, in cash and with exact change.  

They leave.  I see them walking out the door.  They say nothing as they leave.

I end up giving the server  $20 I was given tonight as a tip.    

I finish up my night, get seated at the chef’s table and wonder if I should have just given him what he wanted and walked away.  

The easy answer is yes, but based on his wife’s face I don’t think he’s used to be told no or talked back to.  She didn’t utter word during the whole exchange. 

Is it better for the business, to eat the cost and not deal with the negativity?  

Of do you stand your ground and say no.  

I have no idea.  Everyone I’ve asked tonight said that if you eat the steak, you pay for the steak.  

The director of operations at a corporate restaurant would have told me to comp the whole meal.  

I’m left sitting here, contemplating the choices.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Tonight, a server comes to me and says that table #11 would like to see me.  She lets me know that they are visiting from Kentucky.  

Without a beat, I say to her, tell them I need to know which basketball team they root for, before I can come to the table.  

She comes back 15 minutes or so later, and says, they want to know if you are a part of BBN.  

She tells me that stands for Big Blue Nation.  

I laugh and say, I know what it means.  

I go by the table.

I say alright, who do you root for, because if it’s for the wrong team you are going to have to leave. McDonald’s out by the highway is open till 11:00.  

They confess they are Kentucky fans.  

We chat for few minutes. 

About Kentucky.  They are from Glasgow.  I probably knew where that was once.  

I tell them that a couple of weeks ago, I was seating a table and asked them if they were from here or away?

They said, they were from North Carolina.  I started to seat them and said, I have to know what basketball team you root for if you are from NC.  They say, they root for Carolina.  I say, good thing.  If you supported Duke, I don’t think I could let you eat here.

They laughed, and we chatted for a few minutes.

The table tonight, said oh my god.  It’s so crazy that was over 30 years ago, and we still fixate on it.  

A man at the table says, I also remember exactly where I was.  Kind of like when I watched OJ be chased.  

It’s true.  I was bartending at O’Charley’s on Nicholasville Road.  He who shall not be named, made the shot and in 90 seconds the bar was empty.  All of us trying to figure out what we’d just seen. 

I’m am gratefully pulled away by a server who needed a void.  

We catch up on the way out, and we chat more about the weather, how I got to Maine, etc.  

They were very nice.

However, the server showed me their credit card receipt.  They tipped her more than 20%.  

But they left $98.

She was curious what kept them from just leaving a $100.  

I told her to do a better job next time….

🙂

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Around 6:50, I answer the phone.

A woman says, hi, my name is Mary, I’m returning a call.

I say yes, how can I help you?

She says, yes, I’m calling you back?

I say yes, how can I help you?

She says, yes, you called me.

I say, if I left a message for you today, it’s because in the last 24 hours you left a message for a reservation.  How can I help you?

Oh.  Yes.  I called for a reservation.  

I ask her what day and time she is looking for…

She says, just a second, I’ll be right back.  I have to get my notes.  

She is gone for what seemed like four hours, but was a least more than 2 minutes, when four guests walk in for their 7:00 reservation.

I’m still waiting, and finally mute the phone and set it down.  

I help the guests that are in front of me.  Then the next guests.  Then the next.

She is gone when I get back to the phone.  

I have no idea if she called back, but hopefully, she left a message.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

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

Yes, do you have any reservations for tonight?

I hear Adam’s voice in my head making fun of me, because I’ve asked this question before. Yes, we have reservations. Lots of them.

I say what time would you like to come in?

it’s currently 6:00.

What’s the earliest reservation you have?

I think to myself, I can seat you now if you are in the parking lot, but I say, I can seat 2 people at 6:30?

Do you have anything later?

I say, yes, I can seat 2 people at 7:30?

She replies, you don’t have anything any earlier?

I say no, thinking to myself that if 7:00 was the time you wanted, why didn’t you ask for 7:00.

She tells me that she’ll discuss it with her daughter and call me back.

She called back around 6:30, I could see her name on the caller ID, but I am getting 6:30 reservations sat and can’t answer.

Ask for what you want out of life!

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I answer the phone tonight.  

It’s an older lady, who tells me she’d like to make a couple of reservations, but first she has questions.

I say of course, what can I help you with.  

She then asks if we have outdoor seating.  

I say yes, we have a lovely patio, that serves the full menu.  

She says great and says then I’d like to make a reservation for October 22. 

I interrupt and say that our patio will not be open on October 22.

She huffs and says, I don’t understand why?

I say, because we live in Northern New England and it will be cold by the end of October.

This perplexes her.  

She says, she’ll have to discuss this with her friends and call back.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Last night was a non-descript Saturday night.  

Save for two encounters.

The first a gentleman who was pissed that when he arrived at the outside bar for a cocktail 10 minutes before his reservation he was told by me that there would be no way to get a cocktail before he needed to be back inside.  

He left without saying anything to me.

But was he ever pissed.

He told the host when he arrived back outside that it was unacceptable to be told no.  

He told his server that waited on him that it was unacceptable that he was not able to get a drink before his reservation.

He then made a point to stop and let me know it was a failure in performance.  Especially since when he came back in for his reservation he had to wait 20 minutes.  

Here’s the thing.

He arrived and was checked in at 6:45. He was seated at 7:03.  

I could have let him approach the bar and wait.  He’d have waited 20 minutes for the drink but I guess he’d be happy.  

Instead, he let this one act ruin his life, which I have to assume is picture perfect, since this was the worst thing that has ever happened to him.

Meanwhile, the evening ends.  We are all in.  We are still full but all the reservations have been seated.  

I’m standing at the wait station and the host comes looking for me frantically.  I am concerned about what is coming next.  

She says, we need to talk in private and pulls me into a corner and says, someone has thrown up.  Right in front of the host stand.

Seriously.  Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.  

One of the most beautiful things about my restaurant is there are hardly any pukers.  At my last job, you barely got through a week without a puker.  

I grab a food runner and tell them to grab some towels, gloves and soapy water and to meet me at the host stand.

She looks at, like every other person I have said this to, like I I’m speaking German. 

I repeat myself. 

She continues to look at me.

I speak slower and more directly.

Get me some towels.  Some kitchen gloves.  And a container of soapy water.  

Ahhhh.

She understands and goes away.

I go to the front door and host stand.

Yeap.  

There is a stream of throw up from directly in front of the host stand, around the corner and into the bathroom.  I’ve seen far worse, but the distinct smell is starting to fill up the lobby.

I stand there, telling people to walk around as they head into the restroom.

I wait.

I wait.

And wait.

I sent the host to find out what is taking so long.

Fun fact:  It always takes a long time, as though you’ve never asked for kitchen gloves or towels before.

Finally, they appear.  

I don the gloves.  Kneel down and go to work.  

The food runner begins to help bare handed and I yell at her to stop.  No.  No.  No.  Not without gloves.  

I scrub the rug in the lobby, the floor, and then move to the women’s room where I’m grateful that it’s not too bad.  The worst of it is already cleaned up.

In about 15 minutes, it’s done and the smell is waning.  

Once, it’s done, the host says to me that she was glad that she didn’t witness it, as she’d have probably joined her.  

She also says that she is glad that she didn’t have to clean it up.  

I explain that there are a lot of things I no longer do as a GM, on the floor.  That I will always ask a staff member to do.

There is only one thing that I will never ask my team to do and that is to clean up vomit. 

I never have and as long as I can get on the floor and do it, I never will.  

I have a strong stomach.  I know it’s not super safe.  And I won’t suscept them to that.  

So, as I have always done, I put on the gloves and cleaned it up.  

Now someone go bus table 33.   

I wrote this post more than 10 years ago. I share it every year on social media. This year I’m sharing it with you.

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, that was 4 blocks up the street. Today I leaned out the window and gasped as I realize that the North Tower of the World Trade Center was on fire. Think Towering Inferno on 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 was 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 that 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 that a small plane had crashed into the WTC and reports were differing on what had happened. I assured him that 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 had happened. 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 was 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 that the 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 happening. 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 in effect 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 that I would be back in the office in just a short while. I then 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 several 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 the silence.  

The sirens have stopped.

The horns of stopped.  

The sounds of the New York streets have stopped.  

It is quiet. 

Quiet unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.

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

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 would 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 anywhere.  

I cross the street and pass someone from the hospital handing out face masks. I take one and put it on. 

I continue to walk, north and east toward city hall and the Brooklyn Bridge. 

My walk out of lower Manhattan still gives me goose bumps. There are 1000’s upon 1000’s of people moving in mass. 

Once again the sound of silence.  

No one is talking. There are no cell phones. There are no sirens. There are no helicopters. Just the silent movement of people in shock moving toward what they hope will be sanity.

I was 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 that 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 1.000’s of people all hoping to do the same. There were people as far as the eye could see and they all had the same thought, Be Helpful. They were there to give blood and volunteer. 

While I was standing there, I heard 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. But at this point, the news stations 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 wandered downstairs.  Into the street.  Where there were no cars, not taxis, no buses.  In both directions, the street was empy. 

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

I didn’t return home for three days. 

Getting home was an adventure.  

It’s approaching 7:00.  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 place about a few blocks from my apartment. 

I made my way there. People were 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 some bread.” 

And that’s what I did. I walked about ten blocks north to a “real” grocery store and 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 got 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 sometimes 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 working 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 there was a spare inch of floor. 

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

It was breathtaking and overwhelming, to think that less than a week ago I’d stood in the area between the buildings and relished in the peacefulness that 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. 

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

Now it was a mound of destruction that words could 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!!!

I only had four notes on my paper today.

That’s maybe because we are less busy than two weeks ago.

Or maybe because it was a LOT of locals and regulars tonight.

Or maybe it’s because August is waning.  

Or maybe because I’m becoming immune to their power.  

Here are my four notes today, combined into one post.

________________

Do not.  And I repeat do not show up 45 minutes early for your reservation, get seated upon arrival and then not be happy with your table.   If you’d arrived at 7:30 as you scheduled, you’d have had a great table.  I’m sorry but I can’t move you, because I won’t have another table until 7:30.  

_________________

Tonight, a food runner finds me at the host stand and says a woman is losing her mind because she’s sitting in the Adirondack chairs by the fire and the fire is going out and she is demanding someone do something about it.  It’s 7:45. We are in the middle of the second turn.  We are not short staffed, but we are NOT overstaffed tonight.  Who the fuck do you think has time to fix to stoke the fire.  You might, turn around, pick up a log and toss it on the fire.  

__________________

I was walking through the Gallery tonight as a server was speaking to a diner, eating alone.  He was asking about her comment to the server that was in that section with him.  Seems the server had checked in on the lady after she got her food, inquiring as to how she liked her $140 snow-aged Wagyu strip loin.  

She exclaimed, OH MY GOD.  THIS IS AMAZING.  I THINK I MIGHT BE HIGH, JUST FROM EATING THIS.

And that my friends, is how you respond to eating some of the WORLD’S best beef.

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And to end my night, at 8:00 we sat a 12 top.  

Here’s the thing with large parties.  

Any party over 8 we require to use a pre-fixe menu.  

I can write more on that later.  

The menu is served family style.  We went to this system at the beginning of the spring and it’s worked quite well.  

I organize the reservations.  Get approval.  Book the table.  Put all the information concerning the reservation into Google Calendar so that Chef knows when they are coming and preps for them before service.  

I might add, that my manager nightmare is booking a party and forgetting to document it, and having a rehearsal dinner show up a week early for a table that I don’t have and food we didn’t order.

Tonight, we seat the 12 top, and the server goes up to Chef and says, the 12 top is seated, We’ll be ready to fire the first course in about 10 minutes.

And Chef looks concerned and says “What party of 12?”

And almost immediately, dings the bell twice, to summon me.  

He is perplexed and annoyed and a little cranky.  And I completely understand why.

He asks why the reservation wasn’t in the calendar for the tonight.

I assure him it is.

He pulls out his phone, opens the app and NOPE.  No reservation.

Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.

Did I really forget???

Here’s the thing.  I know I didn’t forget because I checked the notes on the reservation in the calendar today.  

I go to my computer, check the calendar, and it’s there.  I double check that it’s the right calendar.  I have my work calendar and personal calendar on my computer at home, and last week I updated my work calendar with a change to our cable bill.

Nope.  

Right calendar.  Right date.  Definitely there.

I still have no idea what happened.

I open the event.  I make a small change to it.  Save it.

And what do you know, Chef gets a notification.  

The event went off without a hitch.

After the food landed on the table, I went up to him and told him that I’d already packed my things, and put my yellow lamp in the car.

He looked very serious and said, great, that’ll save me from a conversation later.

Then he laughed.  

I have no idea what happened.

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That’s it.

That’s all my drama for today.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Server Edition!!!

Tonight started great. We were busy. People were tipping. My tables were turning. No problems with the kitchen. The bar was cranking out the drinks. Life was good.

And then at 8:45…

I was standing at the counter taking an order and the most intense pain ever cranked out behind my right eye.

Fuck.

I mentioned about a month ago that I’d started having cluster headaches. They are a type of migraine. The pain usually starts behind one eye and is intense.

Usually I know they are coming on because I get nauseous and a little dizzy. There was none of that tonight. One minute I felt fine the next mine I felt like my eye was going to pop out of my head.

Then it just became a low dull ache. That wouldn’t go away. I decided not to take the migraine medicine because it’s possible it can interact with one of my anti-depressants. So I toughed it out. For about two hours. And finally I said, fuck it. And I took the pill. The headache subsided some, but not much. I took a second one on the way home from work. The dull ache is still there but it’s much better.

I’ve realized since I went to the doctor a month or so ago, that I have had these for a long time. I just attributed them to sinus issues and after a few hours/days they went away. I guess I was wrong. I’m going to make an appointment to see the doctor again this week. I want to check in with him and make sure it’s nothing serious. I joked at work tonight when someone asked what was wrong, that I had a brain tumor. I don’t think that’s the case, but I’d like to at least talk to him about it. I also need to get more medicine. I took the last pill tonight. And if it were to not go away tonight or even worse come back tomorrow night I’m sort of fucked.

In all though it was a good night. I just put the waiting thing on auto pilot and toughed it out. I still outsold everyone else and made good money. Just think how great it could have been if I’d been feeling well.

Update:::

These headaches stopped when we moved to Maine. In fact, I’d forgotten that I got them until I read this post. I believe they were stress related and my day to day stress doesn’t really exist anymore.