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.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

By a show of hands, how many of you picked Saturday, January 21, 2023 as the day I’d get yelled at for the first time this year.

Congrats.  You are all winners, baby!!!

End of the first turn. 

A server comes to me and lets me know that table 13 doesn’t have their gift card with them and isn’t taking a no on not being able use it anyway.

I go to the table and before I even say hello, the lady in the middle is at an 11 on a scale of 1 to 10.  She’s having no part of anything I say. 

This is ridiculous.  This is unacceptable.  This is outrageous.  This is ______________.  

I apologize, but let her know that if she emails me a receipt I can look it up for her later tonight or tomorrow.  

This sets her off, and she’s off to the races again.  

I’ve told Adam a couple of times now, that I need a full-time person just to research and find missing gift cards.  No lie, it’s three or four a day.  

We threw it away with the Xmas wrapping paper.  

I entered the phone number wrong.

My phone died and I can no longer access it.

I used an old email address. 

It’s on my kitchen table, can you just look it up for me.  

This is at 7:00 tonight.  There is a line of people in the lobby waiting to be seated. 

I apologize and say to her that I’m sorry that I can’t help tonight.

She finally dismisses me. 

The man sitting to her left, is loudly apologizing for her and has begun to find the whole experience funny.  

He hands me a credit card and says it’s not that big of a deal, all the while SHE keeps yelling at me.

The server processes the credit card and I go the to the lobby.

I always wait in the lobby, so it’s me who gets yelled at and not the host.

She’s of course fired up when she leaves and says, I hope that when you find the gift card tomorrow you are going to refund my money.

I explain that unfortunately that’s not an option.  Once the check is closed, and it has to be closed today, there is no way to change the payment.

She loses it again and storms out.

Meanwhile, her companion lags behind, apologizes again, and wants to know how to get the number and that they’ll just use it next time

I explain the process, say thank you for his being so nice and he shakes my hand and leave.  

Yes.  Saturday, January 21, 2023

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Hi, how are you tonight?  May I get you something to drink to start?

For me.  Wanna beer.  

Translated, this meant, I’ll take one beer.  

I had a version of this conversation 40 or 50 times a night when I was working in NYC.  

I’m not exaggerating. 

There were days at a time when I didn’t speak to a single guest who spoke English as first language.

I learned early on, that if I didn’t just give the guest a Budweiser, I was much more likely to get a tip.  Maybe not a 20% tip, but any tip is better than no tip.  

So, I began offering our entire beer list to any guest who wanted a beer.

Bud, Bud Light, Stella, Heineken, Guinness, Sam Adams, Shocktop, New Castle…

Most of the time the guest ordered Budweiser.  But not always.  

I also learned that 98% of the rest of the world speaks a little English.  Enough to order a cheeseburger and nachos.  If you speak slowly to them and take your time, they could order the food they wanted and not feel taken advantage of.  (Remind me to tell you about this restaurant’s policies in the 1990’s).  

Most of my old co-workers probably don’t know this, but I gave several 45-minute coaching sessions to new employees on how to make money from every guest, not just the ones from Nebraska.  I put together handouts and everything.  This was in late April, early May and I left a few weeks later, so I don’t know if they worked.  

This was brought to memory when the week before Xmas I heard someone say, for me wanna beer, at my restaurant.  I was immediately transported to Times Square, waiting tables.  

The whole reason for the post is that at one restaurant in Buenos Aires I said, For me.  Wanna beer.  

I have no idea why.  I was embarrassed as soon as it came out of my mouth.  But out it came.  

I ended up with a Giant Stella on my table.  Served with nuts, because apparently, in Argentina beer is always served with nuts. 

Adam laughed at me and asked why I said it like that.  I couldn’t answer.  It didn’t happen again.

As I said, I was embarrassed.  

But as I said, over and over again in Buenos Aires as I did or said something stupid.  I’ll never see these folks again, so don’t worry about it.  

Meanwhile, if you still work at my restaurant in NYC, don’t just give them a Budweiser.  Offer them the list.  You’ll make more money.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I’ve been exhausted the last few nights when I got home.  

Actually, it was all day as well.

I woke up tired and came home tired. To the point that I was starting to wonder if I had mono or some other thing going on.  

Last night I slept like crap, but woke up feeling great.  

And I felt normal when I got home from work.  

This is why I haven’t posted in a few days.  

I have phone calls out to four different doctors to see who can get me in first about my knee.

I’ll keep you posted.

Yesterday, my new AGM started. He came back to 
day. Keep your fingers crossed that it sticks.  

I haven’t been yelled at in 7 days. Keep your fingers crossed that that sticks.  

As for tonight.  

We got this survey result tonight.  

“Should not have to make a res for bar. 1st come, 1st serve. Burger was very good and drinks were excellent. Dinner prices for steak too high for Maine, maybe ok for Boston or Miami or NY, but actually paid less in Miami and Boston, and I’m talking Morton’s and Ruth’s Chris. Same for app prices and you need soup and protein choice on salad.”

I’m going to assume that this dude is a restauranteur, or perhaps a chef, or perhaps a busboy, since he knows so much about the restaurant business.  

Oh, wait. He’s none of these things. I know because our reservation system has a Google guest feature and he is not in our business.  

He reminds me of a restaurant owner I once worked for who said he knew how to run a restaurant because he ate in restaurants a couple of times a week.  

I always wanted to reply, I get my teeth cleaned but I don’t know shit about dentistry.  

Meanwhile, this guy is from our area but he doesn’t work in the business. He does work in an industry that can support our prices though.  

As for taking reservations at the bar. I don’t come to your job and knock the dicks out of your mouth to quote Kathie Griffin.  

You do your job, we’ll do ours. Our entire approach to business is to make your experience as great as possible. It is better because we take reservations at the bar.

Fun fact: Restaurant prices aren’t determined by the area of the country you live in.  

It is possible that the area of the country will dictate if the concept will work, but that’s not how prices are determined.  

You must evaluate whether your concept can be supported by where you live. Chances are, if there aren’t a lot of upper middle to middle class people living in your area, then a steak house would be a bad idea. But that’s no different than trying to open a restaurant that only serves pork and shellfish in a Jewish neighborhood. The concept just won’t work.

However, once you determine that the area can support your concept, ie a steakhouse, the prices are determined by cost associated with doing business. The cost of your product, mortgage, labor and utilities.  

Maine, especially southern Maine, can support our concept.  

And in case you haven’t noticed, the groceries are just too damn high. 

We are paying more for steak, thus you are paying more for steak.  

As for our prices compared to Morton’s or Ruth Chris’…

These are not great steak houses. They are steakhouses, but that’s about as close to being comparable to us as it gets.  

Adam and I ate at Ruth Chris’ in NYC last October.  

I’d never eaten there.  

Our consensus, after eating there was that it was the Red Lobster of steakhouses. It was fine for what it was.  

They are as corporate as corporate gets.  

They spent more time telling us about how hot the skillet would be that the steak would be served on, than about the actual product on the skillet.  

Also, I’d be curious to know how you compared our prices to their prices, when you ordered a burger tonight and they don’t have a burger on their regular menu.  

As for their steaks, they all cost more than ours and the sides are extra. Ours all come with a side and trust me when I say, it will be the best steak you’ve ever eaten and I stand by that 100%.  

You will also find that our servers aren’t reciting dialogue from the training manual.

Hi, welcome to Ruth Chris. My name is Jeff and I’ll be serving you today. Have you dined with us before. Great let me tell you about our menu. Our steaks are grilled in an oven that is 9 million degrees and then served on a skillet that is brought to your table at 15 million degrees. The steaks are served ala carte and we suggest you order 1 to 2 side items to share. May I start you off with a cold beverage from the bar perhaps a Palm Beacher or a glass of our featured wine of the week, Berringer White Zinfandel? And would you like to put in an appetizer while you are waiting? Perhaps the stuffed mushroom or the barbecue shrimp.  

Seriously, this was our greeting at Ruth Chris.  

And I’d like to point out that if your Manhattan is 7.50 you are using Barton plastic bottles of bourbon in your well, especially if you are in Boston.  

App prices are similar but I assure you no restaurant in Maine is serving you barbecue shrimp.  

And if you want to write a menu with soup and salad with proteins on it, there are about 16 restaurants for sale on a single block in Portland. With a good business plan and your salary from your white collar job you are sure to get a loan.  

This drives me fucking crazy.

Almost as much as the people on Next Door who bash restaurants that are expensive.  

Not everyone’s budget is the same. Not everyone enjoys spending money on food.  

Not everyone enjoyed spending money the same period.  

Just because you don’t have the money to eat out at expensive restaurants or choose not to, doesn’t mean other shouldn’t.  

I drive a 14-year old car with manual locks and windows. That doesn’t mean that I don’t think you should be able to drive a new Corvette that cost a more than some peoples home. They looked hot on TV this week. And they are hybrid gas and electric and also the fastest Corvette ever built. I liked the bright blue one on NBC news tonight, if anyone wants to buy me a new car next year.  

I feel the same about clothes. I’ve never really been about designer clothes or accessories. However, I have many friends with multiple Coach bags, or designer shoes, or a name brand wallets.  

But don’t begrudge me, because I will spend more on dining out this month than you spend on your $104,000 car payment.  

Our priorities are different.  

I like good food and drink. I like the experience. I like the social aspect of it. And it’s important to me.  

Our restaurant is not for everyone. That’s okay. We know that. We speak to that. We don’t need to be.  

We are a niche market, and the people who love us LOVE us.  

So, if you need a steak covered in butter and sizzling on a platter with a supply of bearnaise sauce, then Ruth Chris is for you.

If you want a steak cooked on an open fire, with no accoutrement needed, that tastes better than any steak you’ve ever had, then we are the restaurant for you.  

And don’t be surprised if the service in our little Maine town, is FAR better than the service at your big city Red Lobster corporate steakhouse.  

And our staff won’t be wearing name tags but trust me, you’ll remember every single one of their names, because they are the best of the best. 

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Server edition:

Tonight started like every other night at work.

I got there around 4:15.

I peed.  It’s the first thing I do when I walk through the door.

I ordered my dinner.  Chicken Quesadilla and a dinner salad.

I change into my uniform.  Complete with flair for those of you who are curious.  I even have a name tag.

I go to the kitchen.  I make two Diet Pepsis.

I wait.

Depending on what I order it might take three seconds to get my food.  It might take 20 minutes.  I wasn’t sure tonight since I’d never had the quesadilla.  Luckily the day shift kitchen guy likes me so he always wants to know what I’m having so I can get it as fast as I can.  He even made my salad to order today.

I get my food and my two Diet Pepsis and to the front wait station where I get a fork, a knife and napkins.

I then go to the private dining room where we have pre-shift.

And I sit in my chair.  It the first chair just to the right of the column.  Everyone knows it’s my chair.  They don’t sit there.

I eat.  

I chat. 

I wait.

I usually finish eating before pre-shift starts.  When I first started working there, we had a manager who didn’t allow you to eat during pre-shift.  He got transferred and then was forced to quit, translate that to got fired.  

Pre-shift starts.  Always with an announcement of who’s in what station.  It’s the name and then the section.  Jeff   Station 10.

We find out we are out of Heineken.  We find out we are starting a frequent flyer program for kids.  (Who thinks this shit up?)  We are told we have three large parties coming in tonight.  Where they will go and who’s waiting on them.

And then we go on break.  

Someone complained about a year ago and so now we have to take a break.  And since servers can’t take a break in the middle of the shift.  We clock in and then clock right back out on our break.  It’s stupid and now we get on the floor 30 minutes later than we used to.

I clock out.  I drink the last of my Diet Pepsi.  We talk about Shelter Island.  We talk about Vajazzling. Stop reading now and go look this up.  It’s too funny not to read about.  We talk about how busy we were last night.

At 5:25, I pick up my dishes, I take them to the dishroom, I clock in and I find the daytime server that I’m replacing.

We do the exchange of tables.

All is well.  I’m off to the races.

Everything started as usual tonight.

And it stayed that way until about 10:00 or so.

Around 10:00 I noticed a guy standing around on my side of the bar.  This is no big deal.  I work next to the bar, there are always guys standing next to it.  I waited for him to take a seat, ready to wait on him so he wouldn’t get his drink from the bar.  He stands there and then moves on.

I continue to wait tables.

Around 10:15, I see the same guy.  Standing next to the bar, “texting”, not really doing anything.

Around 10:30, I see him again.  I’ve worked in my restaurant a long time.  I’ve worked in cocktails for just as long.  I can see when a person is looking for someone, waiting on someone, or just trying to figure out where to go.  He was doing none of these things.

He still standing near the edge of the bar when a couple of other servers come up.  I point him out and and ask if they know who he is.  A daytime co-worker.  Someone from their section.  

I find Steve the manager.  Steve’s the manager who tried to fire me two weeks ago.

I tell him that there’s guy floating around the bar who clearly doesn’t belong there.  He wants to know why and I explain to him that he keeps circling the bar, not really landing anywhere and he’s been texting for the last 30 minutes.  I point him out to Steve.  

Steve says okay.

I go back to work but I’m still watching this guy.

He’s now standing right next to the service bar near the first chair at my counter.  And I watch as he moves toward a customer, picks up her purse and starts around the bar with it.

At this point Steve is there and I tell him what I just say.  He starts down my side of the bar toward him, I circle in the other direction to cut him off.  As I approach him I motion for about three other servers to back me up.

I get there first and I stop him and tell him he’s going to have to wait for the manager.  He wants to know why, and I tell him it might be because of the woman’s purse he just stole.  Steve joins us.  Steve asks if he stole the woman’s purse.  He denies it and lifts his jacket and opens his bag.  There is no purse.

He starts to walk away and Steve tells him he’s going to have to wait till the police get there to talk to him before he can leave.

Steve, the guy, me and a couple of servers start toward the front door.  The guy never runs.  He doesn’t try to get away.  He just keeps insisting that he did nothing wrong.

Now we are in the lobby.  

He’s insisting that he did nothing.  I’m insisting that I saw him.  He says if I took her purse where is it.  I tell him I don’t know but I know what I saw.  

He starts to walk away and a cop arrives.

I think the cop might have been about 12.  He looked like he might start shaving next year.

He doesn’t really know what to do with him.

He’s still insisting that he didn’t do anything.

I keep insisting that I saw him take the purse.

He keeps telling us that if he stole the purse where is it.

The cop looks confused.

The cop asks — Did anyone see him take the purse?

FUCK.  I’ve told you I saw him.

Did you see what he did with it?

NO.

Well if he doesn’t have the purse…

Fuck this.

And then I realized he’s dumped the purse somewhere in a ten foot area near the bar.

I run back to the bar and I look in the dark area next to the computer.

Not there.

I look in the trash can next to the bar.

What do you know?

A PURSE.

I take the purse out to the cops and tell him that he doesn’t have the purse because he dumped it in the garbage.

There is still much confusion.

I tell them if they don’t believe me we have security tapes that will prove it.

The cop says, “There are security tapes?”

I say yes.

Steve tells me to go back to my tables and they’ll let me know if they need me.

By this time everyone on my side of the restaurant has seen the incident and wants to know what’s going on.

I try to explain, catch up their table and stop shaking.

I don’t know if I was shaking because I was mad or because I was a little taken aback that I’d actually stepped in between him and the door.

Steve comes to get me.

I go back to the lobby.  The 12-year old wants to know if I SAW him take the purse.  I assure him yes I saw him pick up the purse and round the corner with it.

We all stand there and finally “real” cops show up.

is trying to figure out how to deal with this.

I go back to waiting tables.

By now I’ve pretty much ignored my tables for an hour.

I go back in and luckily a couple of my co-workers have figured out what’s going on and taken orders, gotten drinks, etc. (I just realized as I typed this that I had a four top that got three desserts for free because I never put them on the check after someone got them for them.  Whoops).  I pick up where they’ve left off and I go back to work.

A few minutes later another manager (the AGM) walks by and I ask what’s going on now?  He tells me that he’s called and gotten the security code for the tapes and that he’s going to check them now.

(I find out later that the area he picked to take the purse has at least three cameras pointed at it, because it’s near the service bar and close to the office where they keep the money.)

Steve comes back in and says, “They have your friend in handcuffs out there.”

I say, “Finally.”

He says, “You need to go down to the other end of the bar to answer some questions.”

During all this time there is still the poor girl who had her purse stolen.  Of course, she’s a tourist.  And of course, she’s scared to death that she almost lost her passport, money, etc.  She has been up front and center during all of this.

I go down there and they are questioning the girl.  Why they need to spend 15 minutes talking to her I don’t know.

I’m told they need to get a statement from me and my information.  I tell them to wait just a second.

I find Amber and ask her to cover my section, give her my computer card, and then go back down.

I basically repeat what I’ve already said.

“I saw a guy floating around the bar not really landing anywhere.  I saw him several times and then told the manager that he might want to keep an eye on him.  About three minutes later I saw him take the purse off the back of the chair and move around the end of the bar.”

“You saw him take the purse.”

“Yes.  He took the purse and rounded the bar.  I alerted the manager and then circled the bar to stop him.  When I got to him he didn’t have the purse.”

“Did you see him throw the purse away?”

“No.  But I figured out what he did with it and found it in the trash.”

The cop asked a few more questions and then took all my personal information.

As they were finishing up a cop walked up and said, “You stopped the guy?”  I said, “Yes.”  He shook my hand and said “Good going.”

I found out later that they actually arrested him because:

Seems he finally gave them an ID.  When they ran it through the system they discovered that it was a stolen ID.  He finally gave them his real name and he had a warrant out for his arrest.

By this time, it’s midnight.  I’m still shaking.  It’s adrenaline and nerves and exhaustion.  I go to the locker room and call my boyfriend.  He’s already in bed, but for some reason he had not turned his phone off, and I gave him the three minute version.  I told him I loved him and hung up.

I go back out on the floor and the girl who’s purse was stolen is there and wants to give me 20 dollars for finding her purse.  I refuse the money and I tell her to 1.  Tip the bartender.  2.  Pay it forward.  She agrees to both.

I finished up my shift.

Came home.

I’m exhausted.

The moral of the story:  The young girl whose purse was stolen, who was at the bar with her two friends for about three hours?  That girl.  Stiffed the bartender.  Didn’t leave her a penny.  Not one penny.  

Update:  Three days later I got to work and about 17 people told me the GM needed to see me ASAP.

I go to his office, where I’m told a NYC district attorney has been calling trying to get in touch with me.  They all assumed I was in trouble. 

I call and am told I need to report to the grand jury on a date to testify.  

Two days later I testify.

About a month later, I’m told he was sentenced to a couple of years, for his warrant and the purse theft.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Day 4 this week.  

We were stupidly busy.  Summer time busy.  We did 100 more people tonight than we did a year ago tonight.  It’s crazy.  

We were completely staffed in the FOH, so I got to be on the floor.  

I had the best shift ever. 

I managed the shit out of the front of house.  You do this.  You do that.  You go here.  You go there. 

I pretended my knee didn’t hurt and just did it.  

I might be regretting that a little bit now, but what’s a girl to do? 

Last night and tonight, I got to be “on” with guests.  I greeted lots of people, shook a lot of hands, got hugs from some amazing friends, and did what I love to do.

It was a fun night.

It was funny because two separate parties came in and already knew that my knee was fucked.  I have no idea how, but they asked me about it, before they had a chance to see me hobble around the floor.  

One of our guests tonight was Hot Daddy Doctor.  A server gave him this nickname.  He is a doctor.  He has two kids.  And he’s hot.  His wife is even hotter.  

He asked about my knee and by the time he’d left, he spoken to two friends who are surgeons in town and I’m supposed to call this week to see if they can pick up the speed on getting me in for a replacement.  Fingers crossed.  

He asked for my cell number tonight, so that he could text me their information.  Many of our guests have my number. 

He came up to me at the end of the meal, gave me a hug and made me promise to call his friends.  The then reminded me not send any dick pics his way.  

I laughed and told him that I’d just tell Adam I was dumping him for a rich doctor.  He told me he’d have to ask his wife first.  

I will call this week. 

I’ve gotten off the topic, but thing that amazed me tonight was that I’m the 2^nd oldest employee in the building.  A bartender is a couple of years older than me.

However, 85% of the staff is 30 years or more younger than me.

Meanwhile, I’m running around like an Olympic athlete and my 12-year old staff is moving at a snails pace. At least a dozen times I asked people to try and walk at least as fast as I was walking.  

Now I have to pour another bourbon and swallow an entire bottle of Tylenol.

See you boys and girls tomorrow.  

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

It was a long day today.

I got to work early to make up for being late on Wednesday.  

I stopped by the new restaurant to see the progress. It is a disaster zone, but you can definitely see progress.  

The bar is gone, the ceiling in the bar has been raised.  

We are selling the bar if anyone would like to buy it.  

The new walk-in has been framed.

The floors in the restaurant downstairs have been pulled and new subfloor has been installed. This restaurant, flooded with about 10 inches of water during the storm right before Xmas.  

There was a backhoe in the parking lot getting rid of the overgrown bushes.  

The fireplace in the entry is gone along with the chimney because it was in such disrepair.

The whole place has been cleaned, which is great because the restaurant was disgusting when I first saw it.  

I saw all of this and I was only there about 4 minutes.

Get to work and dive in head first.  

At 4:00, I was almost caught up from vacation. Emails answered. Phone calls returned.  

30 seconds later, we opened the doors for service.  

And we were busy. Not just for January. But we were busy.  

I hobbled around all night, chatting with the guests. Lots of questions about the new space. Even more questions about the trip to Argentina. And EVEN MORE questions about why I’m hobbling around.

Everyone offered suggestions.

Accupunture? Tried it.  

This salve? Yeap.

That drug. Yes.  

CBD. Done it.

Essential oils. Of course.

Cortisone. Absolutely. 

One guest insists that I call the private clinic he used for his hip.  

I’ve never been able to find a polite way to tell someone that just because I work in the town I work in, and live in the town I live in, I am just a restaurant GM. The only way I could use a private clinic is if I won the lottery tonight. And I’m pretty sure Adam would have told me if we did.  

This comes up mostly when I mention that we live in the cape. Oh, do you have ocean views. Yes. I own a 5 million dollar home on the ocean, and I really only work here because I got bored from being rich.  

I have committed myself to not letting my knee slow me down at work.  

I realized last night, at 10:00, that the reason my knee was insufferable, was because I hadn’t taken any Tylenol all night.

I assigned members of my staff tonight to remind me take it. I also set alarms on my phone as additional back up.

The truth is, complaining doesn’t help anyone, especially not me. 

The highlight of the night was that four tables moved from the dining room to the bar at 9:30. At 10:00 there were still 14 people seated at the bar.  

At 11:00 there were still 8 people.

At 11:30, table 11 was still there. They left around 11:45.  

I’m not that late getting finished in July.

Not to mention that I’m beat. I’m tried. And I’m ready for bed.  

I got home around 12:45.  

It’s 1:35, and since there are no photos to post tonight, getting an entry done will take about 6 more minutes.  

I want to be asleep by 2:00.  

Thank you everyone for traveling to Argentina with me. I really appreciated the comments and concern.  

Stay tuned as we start a new year of hospitality and travel.

Be well all!

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I went back to work on Wednesday.

How did my day start?

I turned over, thinking, I probably have to get up soon.

I look at my phone and it was 12:20.

I have to be up no later than 11:55 to be on time.

I have to be in my car no later than 12:15 to be on time.

I got to work 30 minutes late for my first day back from vacation.

And of course, everyone was there when I got there. Most day’s I’m the first to arrive.

Then, I settle in to return the 53 phone calls I have, and I can’t connect to the internet. I spend an hour trying to get logged in.

I finally give up.

And that’s about 5 minutes before the staff shows up early, to undecorate for Xmas and reset the dining room.

Without blinking it’s 5:00 and time to open the doors.

And then at 2:00 in the morning we get our first survey of the new year.

I’m convinced the woman who wrote it was drunk. It was insane and probably will set the tone for the whole year.

Here’s what it said.

Jeff was simply the best!!! Our table was beautiful and had the perfect setting for a relaxing meal. The food was amazing. Truly, this restaurant has the best service and the food exceeded expectations!

She had to be drunk!!!

It’s going to jinx the whole year.