I’ve been meaning to write this post for a while.

I work in a restaurant in a town filled with VERY, VERY wealthy people. 

Like VERY wealthy. 

Not rich. 

But WEALTHY. 

People who drive Maserati’s as their everyday car.  People who are CEO’s of fortune 500 companies.  People who have helicopters to fly them from the very, very, small private where they’ve airport just just landed their private jet, to their beach compound. 

Seriously, I asked a lady one night if she could arrange to have their helicopter pilot fly me home after work.  My drive is 45 minutes.  She didn’t balk but said, is there a school with a parking lot nearby. 

These are people with custom built yachts.  People who buy 10 million dollar beach front homes, and tear them down to build 20 million dollar beach front homes.  People who have their assistants call me to see if I know anyone who will be the family’s private chef for the summer. 

These are people who own 5 million dollar homes that sit empty all year, except for the two weeks they summer in my small town.   These are people with multiple, homes around the world that they speak of. 

But here’s the thing.

Very.  And I mean, very few of them tip more than 20% and for the most part for all of them 20% is generous.  They often don’t tip on the wine. 

Meanwhile, as I told a server tonight, who got 18% from one of these families, Adam and I go out to a restaurant, order all the things, including drinks and a bottle of wine and when the check comes we throw down 25, 30, 35% like we are the fucking Rockefellers. 

We do it every time we eat out.  Every time. 

We also hardly ever have bad service, and we never modify a dish on the menu.  The most outlandish thing we ask for is sides of mayo, or extra aioli. 

Meanwhile, the real Rockefellers are over here using their calculator to calculate 15% to the penny. 

My staff is very lucky, that although the very wealthy eat at my restaurant, MOST of the customers are me and Adam, out for a good experience who throw much more than 20% at them. 

But it does make me wonder if it’s not avocado toast we should be giving up to become rich but instead we should just tip 15% on our black American Express Cards.  (PS).  The whole time I was waiting tables, I never received 20% from a black Amex customer). 

Tonight was quiet at the restaurant.  Very quiet considering the numbers we did every other day this week. 

What’s funny is a year ago the numbers we did today would have been a normal Saturday night. 

It’s was so quiet that I cut a host around 7:30. 

And all was good until around 8:00 when the host receives a phone call asking to speak to the manager. 

This is never good. 

Also, I never take phone calls.  Usually, I’m just too busy. 

I’m standing there when the host answers the phone.  She asks all the questions.  Can I get your name and number? Can he return the call?  What’s it regarding?  Yes.  I’ll tell him. 

I’m told she’s calling about issues she had. 

We are slow. 

I look her up. 

I call her back.

And soon as she answers I know why she’s calling. 

Early in the evening a server had come to me to tell me that his table had not been pleased with their meal.  I knew the table as I returned a filet to them that had been undercooked. 

I also made sure to walk by again, and when I did both plates were empty. 

The server lets me know that she is saying that the food is not as good as it was the last time they were here.  I never know what to say to this.  The quality and execution of our menu has only gotten better the year that I’ve been here. 

I tell him, that I don’t understand as the plates are empty.  He says they are taking the steaks with them.

Uh?   Okay.  Then they aren’t that bad if they are taking them to go. 

He explains that he just wants to make sure I know.

20 minutes later he comes to find me to let me know that she was VERY upset that I didn’t discount the check because she was displeased with her steaks.    

Uh!  But she’s taking the steaks with her.  You don’t get pants you don’t like at Macy’s and get a discount just because you don’t like them. 

It’s this lady who is calling. 

She starts by letting me know she has been a guest at my restaurant every year since we opened.  And that she has loved it every time.  But that this year, she was very disappointed that the food was not as good and that the manager did not discount the check because they were unhappy. 

I listen, trying to be patient. 

I say to her that I’m sorry they were unhappy, but they took the steaks with them and therefore I didn’t feel they should be discounted.

She says, what was I supposed to do?  Just send it back and not eat?

No.  You send it back and let us cook you something else.

She then goes on to say that the taste of the filet was just not as good as last year. 

I listen.

And that her husband’s ribeye was full of fat. 

I listen. 

I explain that we’ve served filets all night from the same slab of meat and no one has complained.  I explain that she asked for the steak to be medium and perhaps it would have had more flavor it if cooked medium-rare as the chef suggests.  I also explain that a ribeye is supposed to be fatty.  That’s why people order it.  Because of the marbling and fat content.  Yes it’s fatty but it’s fucking delicious.  I don’t say fucking.

She continues. 

I listen.

She finally says, “So.  What are you going to do for me?”

I ask for clarification.

She says, “what are you going to do for me?’

At this point, I have to tell her NOTHING.  You ordered a steak.  You ate part of the steak.  You took the rest of the steak with you.  I’m doing nothing.

She then says that she’s not coming back.

I say, I’m sorry to hear that.

She then says she’s going to leave a bad review on Open Table.

I tell her that that would be fine with us, as we don’t use Open Table. 

She then threatens me with bad reviews on Social Media.

And I say…

And I quote…

Uh.  Mam, I’m going to tell you what I say every time this is said to me.  I will not be held hostage by the threat of a bad review.  You do as you must, but I’m not changing my position.  You ordered a steak.  You got a steak.  You took the steak home with you.  Giving you a discount is not how any of this works. 

There was silence. 

And then she hung up. 

No reviews yet. 

Here’s the thing.  We butcher all of our meat.  If we had a bad batch of filets everyone else would say the same thing.  It was slow tonight.  We still served 36 filets.  My guess is seriously, someone else would have complained.

They did not. 

So, I have to think this was her looking for a discount. 

This is okay.  But she should stick with chain restaurants.

We were BUSY tonight. We beat our previous record for covers by almost 20 people.

The night went great for the most part. Only a couple of hiccups that were remedied rather quickly.

For my part the first hiccup was a woman, during the first turn who sent back her skirt steak as not being cooked enough.

Here’s the thing. You don’t want a well done skirt steak. You just don’t. It will be tough. And hard to cut. And very. Very. Chewy.

I got this question from a friend this week:

I have been wondering something regarding ordering at your restaurant. BTW, loved the article you shared! Whenever I finally get to Maine and I come to eat there, is it okay to tell your staff how I like my steak cooked and ask which cuts are best served that way? Since I don’t know anything about the various cuts, but know I like mine pink in the center, they can help me choose the right cut. Right?

Absofuckinglutely. Absofuckinglutely.

Ask your server.

We cover this daily.

Which cuts are lean. Which cuts are more flavorful because of the marbling. Which steaks should be eaten raw. Which will be delicious medium well.

Ask away!!!

But for the love of god don’t NOT ask and then get upset when it’s not what you want.

So this woman sends her steak back.

But here’s the thing.

She has cut the steak into about 15 pieces. I guess she kept hoping that it was more well-done as she cut it.

The chef is perplexed as to how he is supposed to put it back on the grill.

He ends up putting it on a sizzle platter. (Google it. It’s what fajitas are served on at Applebee’s).

However.

The server has already told me that the woman insisted that she did not want the same steak sent out to her. She wanted the chef to cook an entirely new steak.

Oh. Honey. That’s so sweet but that’s not how any of this works.

The Chef is not going to cook a new steak. He’s going to bring the original steak up to temp.

And that’s exactly what he did.

And the bell dings twice and I’m off to expo to pick up the steak and return it to table 36, seat 2.

I set it down in front of her saying, I hear you wanted your steak cooked up a little more?

She stares at it.

And stares at it.

And finally says, Is this the same steak? I said I didn’t want the same steak.

And her friend at seat 3 says, she doesn’t like when it’s reheated. It changes the flavor of it.

And I explain that we aren’t going to make her another steak. And this one should be perfect.

She lets me know her displeasure.

I don’t apologize. I just walk away.

They tell the servers all the way that I’ve made them angry, that they aren’t coming back. And that I need to come back and apologize or they are leaving a bad review on social media.

I tell the server what I always say: I won’t be held hostage by the threat of a bad review. Do what you need to do.

The best part is, that they asked for a to go box so they could take it with them.

I made sure to be at the door when they left.

The woman scowled at me as she left. But never said a word.

I’ll keep you posted on any reviews we receive.

We were BUSY tonight. We beat our previous record for covers by almost 20 people.

The night went great for the most part. Only a couple of hiccups that were remedied rather quickly.

For my part the first hiccup was a woman, during the first turn who sent back her skirt steak as not being cooked enough.

Here’s the thing. You don’t want a well done skirt steak. You just don’t. It will be tough. And hard to cut. And very. Very. Chewy.

I got this question from a friend this week:

I have been wondering something regarding ordering at your restaurant. BTW, loved the article you shared! Whenever I finally get to Maine and I come to eat there, is it okay to tell your staff how I like my steak cooked and ask which cuts are best served that way? Since I don’t know anything about the various cuts, but know I like mine pink in the center, they can help me choose the right cut. Right?

Absofuckinglutely. Absofuckinglutely.

Ask your server.

We cover this daily.

Which cuts are lean. Which cuts are more flavorful because of the marbling. Which steaks should be eaten raw. Which will be delicious medium well.

Ask away!!!

But for the love of god don’t NOT ask and then get upset when it’s not what you want.

So this woman sends her steak back.

But here’s the thing.

She has cut the steak into about 15 pieces. I guess she kept hoping that it was more well-done as she cut it.

The chef is perplexed as to how he is supposed to put it back on the grill.

He ends up putting it on a sizzle platter. (Google it. It’s what fajitas are served on at Applebee’s).

However.

The server has already told me that the woman insisted that she did not want the same steak sent out to her. She wanted the chef to cook an entirely new steak.

Oh. Honey. That’s so sweet but that’s not how any of this works.

The Chef is not going to cook a new steak. He’s going to bring the original steak up to temp.

And that’s exactly what he did.

And the bell dings twice and I’m off to expo to pick up the steak and return it to table 36, seat 2.

I set it down in front of her saying, I hear you wanted your steak cooked up a little more?

She stares at it.

And stares at it.

And finally says, Is this the same steak? I said I didn’t want the same steak.

And her friend at seat 3 says, she doesn’t like when it’s reheated. It changes the flavor of it.

And I explain that we aren’t going to make her another steak. And this one should be perfect.

She lets me know her displeasure.

I don’t apologize. I just walk away.

They tell the servers all the way that I’ve made them angry, that they aren’t coming back. And that I need to come back and apologize or they are leaving a bad review on social media.

I tell the server what I always say: I won’t be held hostage by the threat of a bad review. Do what you need to do.

The best part is, that they asked for a to go box so they could take it with them.

I made sure to be at the door when they left.

The woman scowled at me as she left. But never said a word.

I’ll keep you posted on any reviews we receive.

Around 8:00 tonight, I get a call on the radio to come to the host stand. 

Yes, I have a radio.  Between inside, outside, and three different areas of the indoor restaurant, I’m constantly on the move. 

I get to the host stand. 

Table 37 has been sat, but they are NOT happy.  They are telling the host that they requested a table on the patio and we have sat them inside. 

I go the I-pad and look up the reservation. 

AHHHHH. 

Yes.  This reservation. 

I remember it well. 

A woman from a neighboring resort called to make the reservation. 

She asked for a table for 5 at 7:30  I told her I only had 8:00 and that I could seat them then. 

She said she’d call back. 

She did and made the reservation.  I asked for a credit card to hold the reservation and she did not have one.  I ALWAYS ask for credit cards from hotels because they are forever making reservations for people who don’t show up. 

I told her that I would make the reservation, but to make sure her guests know when and where to be. 

We hang up.

10 minutes later the phone rings and woman tries to make a reservation for 5 at 8:00.  I start the reservation, I get the phone number and it pulls up the name of the person, who I just made a reservation for. 

I ask for clarification.  And for about 4 minutes everyone is confused as to what is happening.  I think it’s a case of 2 reservations of 5 for a 10 top.  The woman on the phone thinks there is no reservation at all. 

Turns out the hotel person, paid no attention to what I said, and told the guest they had to call to make their own reservation. 

We figure it all out. 

We hang up.

Here’s the thing.  I never told anyone they could have the patio.  In fact.  I didn’t make any patio reservations today because I knew we’d be short a bartender and I knew we needed to control the chaos. 

So they definitely did not make a patio reservation. 

However, per my new mantra of not being an asshole because I can be.  I looked at the book, found a way to make it work, went to table #37 and filled them in.  I told them that if they could wait about 15 minutes we could get them seated on the patio.  We chatted for about 3 or 4 minutes. I explained that I didn’t make any patio reservations today, and why.  And that it was the hotel concierge who made the mistake and that I fielded the phone call and that five minutes later someone called back to book it again.  She said it was her assistant and I think to myself, I want an assistant.  I ask them to give me 10 minutes and we’d get them seated. 

 And I head to the patio to make it all work.

They party of 5 arrived at the patio about 15 minutes later.   They were ecstatic over the beauty of it.  The woman was taking all sorts of photos and wanted to know if we hosted weddings.  I told her we did but the tricky part is we don’t’ really have a backup if it rains.  I chatted with them for about 10 minutes before they sat. 

I leave.  End of story.

However, I’m sitting at the chef’s table tonight when a patio server comes in to check out.  She hands me her cash out and receipts and says we had celebrities on the patio tonight!

I ask who and turns out, table #37 who moved outside are famous.  She’s a talk show host.  Her husband is a rapper.  Both were beautiful.  I had no idea who they were until I looked them up.  They were so nice and so kind and understanding.  And they tipped well. 

I’m so glad I was nice to them. 

I continue to say, I’ve met more celebrities here than I ever did in NYC. 

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

A year ago, I was new.

I knew only a hand full of people coming in to the restaurant. And even fewer people by name.

My old restaurant didn’t take reservations, so unless I had a reason to learn your name, I only knew people by site. I talked to many, many people over the five summer I worked there and knew their stories but not their name.

Since I’ve started working here, we take reservations. I know so many names now. And I take lots and lots of notes to remind me of spouses names, bar stools you like, how long you sit, that you just moved here etc.

Lately, there have been very few names I know on the reservation list. Tonight out of 125 tables we sat I only knew four or five people. And of those I could only pick out two or three from a lineup.

One woman’s name I recognized but couldn’t place. Could not remember what she looked like, or who she was.

She was standing at her tables, waiting to sit down when she saw me. I was in the middle of something, so I couldn’t stop but I said hello, and she said, HI KEVIN!!! IT’S SO GOOD TO SEE YOU.

I returned the pleasantries as my staff at the server station all laughed. I kept moving.

So many people get my name wrong. And I never, ever, ever correct them.

At one job I was Josh for more than a year.

One woman who currently frequents the restaurant continues to call me Jeremy even though, the bartender has corrected her.

I guess as long at they aren’t calling me an asshole I shouldn’t mind.

And I don’t really.

It was nice just to see a familiar, smiling face.

We were busy tonight.  Actually we are busy every night right now, but we started just 20 or so covers less than where we ended the night tonight. 

There was a line at the door when we opened at 4:50. 

We are seating people in the dining room.  Sending people to the patio. 

And all is going well.

Then.

Three people walk in. 

The hosts ask if they have a reservation. 

They say that they do not BUT that they are just going to the bar.  The host explains that we take reservations for the bar and that if they give her a second she’ll see what she can do. 

At this point the woman walks to the door of the dining room and looks in, and turns and says but all the stools are empty.  Why can’t we just sit?

FUN FACT. 

Every person who walks in without a reservation does this.  But all the stools are empty.  Yes, but they are for reservations. 

The host says, yes, but they won’t be in 30 minutes.  They are reserved.  I think to myself, thus the reason they are called reservations. 

The woman insists that they are local and come in all the time.

I laugh to myself.  First.  If you came in all the time, you’d know we take reservations.  Second.  If you came in all the time, I would know at least your face.  I’ve never in fact seen you before.  And third, You might be local but that’s not helping much if you have never been in before.

The host continues, to try to find them a spot. 

I step behind the host stand.  We are very busy.

But. 

I have been doing this longer than they have.  I see holes.  I see spots where we can move things.  I can also roll the dice and hope the outcome doesn’t screw us. 

I’m looking when the woman says, well if the bartender just sees us he will find us a spot.  He always does.

I look up from the I-pad and say, that’s not how any of this works.  Thinking again, you don’t come here often because everyone in a 100 mile radius knows are the bartender’s name.  He’s been there for almost four years.  And.  You’d also know that I make the reservations not him. 

I move some things around.  Say to the threesome, I can seat you now, but I’ll need the stools back by 6:30.  It’s around an hour, twenty and that should be more than enough time to eat.  If that works for you I can get you seated. 

They agree. 

They are seated.

They tell the other bartender behind the bar that they haven’t been in the restaurant in over a year. 

Not what I’d really call a regular. 

I’ll explain the shiny shirts in a later post.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Server Edition!!!!

I just worked my first swing shift. A swing shift is when you go in midway through lunch and stay until the restaurant is off the wait for the evening. Today I got to work at 1:30 and my station was cut at 10:30. Overall it was not a bad day, and I do have to admit that my new outlook is working great. For the last two days I’ve had great shifts, worked hard and made good money. And basically I just tell myself that no matter what’s happening there is no reason to be upset. It’s not worth losing your job over, yelling about, or losing your cool. And for the most part it’s worked.

I do have to admit though, that I had to take a couple of very deep breaths at the end of the shift tonight.

My last table of the evening was four British women who were sat around 9:30. There was nothing out of the ordinary about them and they were okay nice. They didn’t want to have fun, but they were pleasant enough. I should have known better. They ate at a snails pace. It took them almost an hour to finish their main courses. And when you have an appetizer, entree and dessert, that can take a while. They also had three rounds of cocktails. When it was all said and done, their bill came to $241.27 and they had been my only table for well over an hour by 11:30. At around 11:45 they finally paid their tab. They were very sweet and told me to keep the change.

And so breathlessly I took the money to the wait station and said a little prayer. And counted it.

They had given me $250.00. And I got to keep the change. All$8.73 cents worth.

I just stood in the wait station, cringing. I was afraid to go back on the floor because I didn’t want to be tempted to say something to them. With most corporate restaurant jobs, the one sure way to be fired is to say something to a guest about a tip. But at the same time you have to be kidding me.

Just to break things down for you. I have to tip out 4 percent of my gross sales. So let’s just do the math. 4% of 240 is 9.60. Yes, that’s right, it’s actually cost me money to wait on them, and in the end I didn’t make a penny. And I’m still at work at midnight, when if they hadn’t been here I could have been home by midnight.

By the time I got home, I just let it roll off my back. There’s no use getting upset about it. It really doesn’t do any good when it’s all said and done. I still managed to walk with 13% of my sales for the day and that was still a significant amount of money. But I just keep thinking how nice the fifty bucks would have been if they’d tipped the 20 percent they should have. Ah, wishful thinking.

And now I’m going to go to bed, so I can have my new outlook during my shift tomorrow.

I got to work today and was scrolling thru the reservations.

I got super excited about a 5:00 reservation. They had a name that was a variation of my name. And I wanted to make sure I was in the lobby when they came in to say hi.

I was there. We exchanged pleasantries.

They were seated.

A bout 30 minutes the server comes to let me know they aren’t happy.

They have received their meals but their salads weren’t served first.

I ask her if I should visit them. She says no. I do say that I will make sure to be at the door when they leave to check in.

And so I am.

They arrive at the host stand and are leaving, and I ask how their meal was.

The wife says “alright.”

I ask, “just alright?”

And she gets that pursed look on her face that I hate. My mother would do that.

Her husband says, “He asked Go ahead.”

And she tells me all the ways that the evening was horrible.

Their salads weren’t served first.

The music was too loud.

They got their food too fast.

The window looked out on the parking lot.

The server never checked in on them.

The tables were too close.

The restaurant wasn’t romantic.

The neighbors was too loud.

They never got their potatoes.

I listen. They finish.

I’m not sure what to say.

The salads weren’t served first because they are sides.

The food came fast because they sat at 5:00. Every. Every. Every. Restaurant is fast at 5:00. There is no one in front of you. Most people who eat at 5:00 want to be fast. When Adam and I eat at 5:00 we are on our way to a show. We don’t want to linger.

Yes. The music is loud. We are an Argentine steak house. Not Delmonico’s. And no we did not turn it down, because the man who signs my check sets the volume. Not one other person complained tonight, not even the other people sat at 5:00 who were your age.

Yes. The window in the dining room looks into the parking lot. My little town is filled with restaurants that look out on to the water. If we had water views your filet would be 1.5 times more expensive. Also our dining room is fucking beautiful. And if it’s your anniversary, look at your husband.

The server said, her version, that she came over after your food was served but you waved her away because you were annoyed you’d gotten your food. She also said, you got your mashed potatoes as you ordered. She put them on the table herself. You didn’t get two orders because your salads were actually your sides.

Yes, the tables are close. For Maine. If we were in NYC or Chicago, or any other major cities we’d have four more tables in that row of tables. Three inches apart.

As for your loud neighbors, did you say hi? Did you talk to them? Keep them occupied so they can’t be loud. Or you can be loud with them.

And we are a VERY romantic restaurants. We have sooooooo many first dates at our restaurant. One guy calls me his wing man because; he calls me to tell me he’s bringing another first date to the restaurant. I see him at least every two weeks. He’s hot. The girls he brings are hotter. We treat him like gold. Eventually, he’ll find the right one.

The couple left two reviews.

One was a response to our survey.

One was on Google.

Both mentioned that they talked to the owner on their way out and he didn’t respond to their complaints.

I’m not the owner….but…..

I didn’t know what to say.

The salads are side. Did you ask for them first?

I have no idea how to address the view. I can’t move the restaurant. We don’t have a roof top dining room. The patio looks on to the parking lot. I was screwed there.

I really think you were going to be unhappy with anything we did. You really needed to be at a white table cloth restaurant.

Meanwhile. I had 30 conversations tonight telling me how wonderful we are. How great Bob was. How great Andy was. How great the 45 day dry aged Wagyu strip was. How great the bread pudding was. So many people were there for the first time tonight. From just down the road. From Connecticut. From Philadelphia. From Portland.

When they were seated, we gave them a lovely card wishing them happy anniversary and thanking them for celebrating at our restaurant. They gave it back to the server with the words, we will never be back.

So I will ask again…was it us? Or you?

Today I realized that the absolute WORST part of running a restaurant, in the summer, in a coastal New England tourist town…

The ABSOLUTE worst… 

Is trying to decide on a day like to today whether to keep the patio open or close it preemptively. 

You never.  Ever.  Win. 

If you do close it, the rain never comes.

If you keep it open the rain comes at 6:30 when every table is full. 

If you close it and it doesn’t rain, you lose money.

If you close it and it doesn’t rain, you piss guests off. 

If you don’t close it and it rains, you lose money.

If you don’t close it and it rains you piss guests off. 

There is no way to win. 

Our patio seats around 100 guests.  We do NOT have matching seats inside just in case. 

We fill up both the patio AND the inside with the goal of capturing as much revenue as possible. 

Today, storms were forecasted between 4:00 and 6:00.  They could be severe. 

Chef and I met at 1:30 and decided to just play it safe.

It started to rain at 4:26 just as pre-shift was starting.

Around 4:38 there was a full rainbow in our parking lot.

And the rain stopped at 4:45 as pre-shift ended.  And the sun came out and the skies were clear for the rest of the night.

Unfortunately, when you call it at 2:00, you no longer have staff.  You no longer have reservations.

And you watch as the sun continues to shine in the parking lot as you struggle to turn tables to get all the people you moved inside, sat on time. 

And the guests walk in wanting to know why the patio is NOT open.  And they don’t care that it was supposed to rain. 

And I get their point.