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. 

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Server edition!!!

PS. I clearly remember the woman who was upset because her drink wasn’t pink enough. It was not a cosmo!

During my shift waiting tables on Tuesday night I came to the realization that I hated my job and I was completely over it. This is not something you want to realize when you have only been at the job five weeks. The past three or four shifts have sucked for various reasons, and I haven’t made nearly as much money as I should have and this only makes it worse. So on the way home on the subway Tuesday night I had a little chat with myself. I basically said to myself that I needed to stop taking the job so seriously, I needed to stop getting upset by things when they didn’t go my way, and I needed to realize that the job for better or worse was excellent money and that I needed it.

I had the same conversation with my roommate who agreed with me that it was not good to hate a job you’ve only had five weeks. He also reminded me that it was a means to an end and that if I hated it, that would keep me motivated to look for a real job. I reminded myself of all of this on my way to work tonight. And without a doubt I had the best shift tonight that I have had since I started working there. I didn’t make the most money, but I dealt with every thing without getting upset and just let the crap roll off my back. And all though it wasn’t THE BEST money night, it was the 2nd BEST money night.

And trust me when I say it was not a smooth night at all. The restaurant just spent a trillion dollars getting a state of the art computer system with all the bells and whistles. It has a response time of about 20 seconds. Meaning you touch the screen to ring up a burger and it takes 20 seconds to register that’s what you want. This means it adds minutes to every check you deal with every night. To make matters worse, the entire system was down tonight when the shift started. Luckily it was back up withing 20 or so minutes so it didn’t create too much havoc. Unfortunately at about 10:30 when I was very busy it lost all of my checks. Well sort of. I could see them. I just couldn’t access them. So anytime someone ordered something new, I started a new check. And then when the table was ready to pay I had to get a manger to override the system, combine all the checks and then print it for me. And then if a table was paying with a credit card, once again the manager had to override the system and do the card manually. Of course all of my tables wanted to pay at once and it took forever to take care of them.

But I did not get upset. I just explained to them all that it was a new computer system and that I would get them out as quickly as possible. Most of them found it funny and were fine. Trust me when I say I could have let that ruin my night, but I didn’t. I just rolled with it and let it go.

I only had one bitchy table. They hated everything from the word go. I didn’t get the drinks right. They weren’t in the right glasses. The drink wasn’t pink enough. I wouldn’t give them separate checks. Needless to say, I realized about three minutes in I wasn’t going to get a tip, so I cut my losses and ignored them. I waited on them as much as I had to and was as nice as I could be. They left me exact change on the tab with no tip, just as I expected. I just laughed about it. Some people are just unhappy and there’s nothing I can do about it. The way I see it, 42 other tables thought I was great tonight. One didn’t. I don’t think it was me. On other nights yes, it was me. But not tonight.

Tomorrow (Friday) I have to be at a meeting at 9:00 a.m. for the shows in Oklahoma for next summer. Maybe tomorrow’s post should be Oklahoma Day One?

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

About two or three weeks ago, I came home frustrated.  Very.  Very.  Frustrated. 

In my frustration, I wrote a very long post about the struggles I was having with my staff. 

The post was really more about me than them.  As I mentioned then, I have no one to vent to at work and I dropped the bomb here. 

In the post, I asked if any of my friends in the world of my readers could help with my struggles. 

And lo and behold, someone reached out. 

An professional who gets paid to deal with similar struggles on a daily basis. 

This was not a close friend.  In fact, when they friended me on Facebook I had to look them up via mutual friends to figure out who they were.  It didn’t take long to find the connection and to remember how our paths had crossed. 

They reached out via messenger and asked me to give them a call. 

It’s taken two weeks but on the way home tonight….I called.

We played catch up at first, but then the conversation was brought back to the reason for the call. 

They, were very, very, very, very helpful.. 

They reminded me that I’m actually good at my job and my struggles are the same struggles no matter the industry. 

They gave me some help in how to deal with my staff that can’t seem to grasp why I want things done the way I do.  The staff who says I have too many rules. 

They even gave me wording for a contract that I could draw up with my staff that lays out the reason I need them to perform at a certain level, and lays out the expectations of that performance. 

They reminded me to take what I wanted and leave the rest.

The conversation continued for more than an hour.  I sat in the garage for 20 minutes chatting when I got home. 

We shared stories of our past together, stories of life since we knew each other. 

At one point though, the person said that they thought I might be being stubborn for the sake of being stubborn.  That sometimes they felt like I was being a dick for the sake of being a dick.  I’m not sure if they used the word dick but the implication was there. 

They brought up stories I’ve told of being stubborn with guests. 

I started to protest, but I shut up and just listened. 

When they were finished I made some points. 

First. 

I owned it. 

Yes.  You are right. 

Sometimes I’m stubborn for the sake of being stubborn.  But I assured them I tended to go there when they came in for a fight. 

They reminded me that they might not be looking for a fight but instead some forgiveness for not playing by the rules.  And that I should try to find forgiveness, kindness and reason before I needed to be right. 

Ugh.  I hate when people are right.  Hate it. 

And they were right.  

They reminded me that if my staff thought I was being a dick for the sake of being a dick I probably was. 

I then went on to say, that sometimes the guest had already been unreasonable before I get to the story. Long before the host calls me to the door to fix the problem. 

The people who come in ready for a fight because they are wealthy and entitled and need to make sure everyone knows it.  I do dig my heels in, because I hate, hate, hate when people use their wealth for bad. 

But I do agree that sometimes that it is not the case. 

I also let them know that just like the news I don’t report on the good.  I don’t tell a lot of the stories of the times I helped people. 

About the times, that I swallowed my pride and did the right thing. 

For example the table of 12 this past weekend that I gave a reservation to, even though it was against the rules, sat them at 2 six tops next to each other and accommodated their requests.  Especially since 7 of them were under the age of 10. 

About the times, that I make Chef mad by over seating the dining room because I won’t tell regulars NO when they call at 4:00 for a reservation on Saturday night.  (This happened this past Saturday, when I took 15 more people than I was supposed to at 5:00). 

About the times, that I made sure their requests were fulfilled. 

I don’t tell these stories because everyone knows a train wreck is far for more interesting to look at. 

And last,  I say that I need to make sure that I start telling people good stories as well as bad so all of you know, I’m not really an asshole. 

In fact, I posted about Chef’s article in the local paper and the first comment on the article at the website was a comment about the staff, led by Jeff F.  A guest tonight told me about that.  It felt good to be recognized. 

The last thing the person said to me before we ended the call was to make sure that ALL of my staff knows of my passion for the restaurant.  My passion for the food.  The service.  The ambiance.  The entire experience. 

If they can believe me when I say it, then they’ll understand why I need them to have the same passion when it comes to their job. 

So take aways:

1. I like my job.
2. I’m passionate.
3. My team does a great job and I should post about that to balance my frustrations.
4. We have great guests and I should balance that with my jerk stories.
5. I should take the high road when they take the low road. 
6. I should put together a contract as part of my ongoing creation of training materials.
7. And I should remember that if I didn’t want everyone to do a good job I wouldn’t be so hard on myself.

And.

That at the end of the day, we are all there to do the best that we can do.  We are all in different places, and it’s my job to get everyone to the same place. 

You know what you never want to do at work?  No matter the job?

Fall on your ass!!!

Tonight the bell rang twice. 

It’s the bat signal.  My time to go to the kitchen to see what’s needed. 

It’s a recook on a NY strip.  It was a little underdone for table 22. 

I leave the kitchen take about 4.5 steps, my feet go out from under me and the next thing I know I’m on my ass, laying on my back by the wait station. 

I lay there for about 30 seconds.

I needed to asses if I was hurt. 

I was not. 

I wasn’t even embarrassed. 

I just hated having to go back and tell chef his steak was on the floor. 

As I walked to the kitchen a food runner walked by me with a new steak for table 22.

I assured everyone I was fine. 

I have a feeling my left knee might be a little sore tomorrow. 

But I’m fine.  

I did remind everyone that at my age, break and hip and it’s all downhill from there.  They didn’t find it funny. 

Mostly because I think chef, knows how fucked we’d be if I couldn’t walk at work.