I have a confession to make.

I love my boyfriend a lot.

But I’m a real live human being. A male human being. And sometimes I notice guys who are attractive.

Fun fact. As I’ve gotten older so have the guys I find attractive.

The reason I’m confessing this is that about a month ago I got busted checking a guy out at work.

I looked up from the IPad and a very handsome man was standing in front of me.

Whoops.

He was very sweet and asked if I was checking out his new shirt.

Yes. Yes. That’s exactly what I was doing.

In fact his shirt was very nice.

Anyway, since then he and his wife come in once a week. And he always teases me about different things.

Tonight he was in and teased that I’d called the police on him last time he was in.

He’s got a big smile, big personality. Very nice.

I usually tease back.

Tonight I teased that at some point they have to start calling for a reservation or I’ll not be able to seat them.

I got them a seated at the bar.

On their way out.

He shook my hand and thanked me for always being so gracious to he and his wife.

As he pulled his hand back I realized there was a bill in my hand.

I stuck it in my pocket.

I said goodbye. They left.

I didn’t even think about it again till I got home and emptied my pockets.

As I put my wallet, keys, and dental floss away I found a crisp 100 dollar bill in my pocket.

It was the first tip I’ve gotten since last summer. It was very generous. And very unnecessary.

I am very grateful for people like that at work. Who expect nothing. But appreciate what we do do.

It makes my job super awesome.

We have great guests.

Adam and I had dinner tonight before we saw a show.

Dinner was much faster than we expected so we walked to a bar down the street to have a cocktail.

Bartender was very sweet with biceps that wouldn’t quit. She was excited we were from the south.

It was a typical bar. An older couple having dinner behind us. A young foursome at the end having fun.

About 90 seconds before we left a woman walks behind the bar and right up to the bartender.

The bartender says, now how do you make the drink you want again. She was very patient.

The woman says Belvedere. Olive juice. Vermouth.

I was expecting some fancy esoteric cocktail. It’s a fucking dirty martini. Like. Exactly a dirty martini.

The bartender is very kind. Sends the lady on her way. Makes the drink.

She processes our payment and we are off to the show.

Who really thinks iit’s okay to go behind the bar to tell a bartender how to make a drink she’s made a 1,000 times before.

When you reserve a table through our reservation system there is an option to put in requests and notes.

Something’s we’ve had in the last few months.

A table with a view of the water. (We are 3 miles from any water).

A table by the window. (We have a row of windows. That look into the parking lot).

Two seats at the corner of the bar. (Our bar is a horseshoe. There is no corner).

A booth near the fireplace. (We don’t have a fireplace).

Can you bring mussels as soon as sit down? (We don’t have mussels).

A table in a quiet corner. (Every time we get this, they get put in the atrium area then they complain because they aren’t in the main dining room).

A two top will request a table in one of our private dining rooms. (They seat 8. We won’t put you in there if we have large parties).

Can we provide a birthday cake for desert? (We don’t have birthday cakes).

My favorite.

The request was in Spanish. Our host who is from Columbia translated for us.

(Hi. Can I get apple pancakes for my girlfriends birthday. Thank you for your consideration!

No comment needed.

Last week I wrote about seating out of order.

Tonight is about making people wait.

Over the weekend, we had a couple come in at 5:15 for a 5:45 reservation at the bar.

The host told them we’d get them seated closer to 5:45, and that they were welcome to wait on the couch.

So they sit.

And the husband stews.

He can see the empty seats. He says nothing to me but keeps muttering to his wife.

And keeps muttering to his wife.

He finally grunts something to me about why they have to wait and where the hell is the real bartender.

I say, we’ll if you’d like to know he had a death in the family. We are staggering are seating so you don’t complain about the service later and we’ll get you seated as soon as possible.

His wife grunts at him.

Around 5:35 we tell them we can seat them. He walks in first. The wife follows and says sometimes I wish someone would punch him in the face.

I laugh.

She laughs.

They are very nice on their way out.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Last week I took a reservation tonight for 5:45. They wanted 6:00 but I said no. I actually tried to get them earlier but the insisted they couldn’t make it.

Fast forward to tonight.

The hosts for the 6 top reservation arrived at 5:05.

40 minutes early.

They wanted to sit at the bar but there were no seats.

Then they realized they knew folks at the bar and they tried to order drinks through them.

No go. My team knows better.

They instead stand in the way talking to their friends at the bar.

Finally they move to the lobby where they give my host team a hard time about getting seated early.

The host finally seats them.

Then I discover what happened.

I give my team my speach about not rewarding bad behavior. I also let them know that this foreshadowing of things to come.

Lastly, I remind them that it’s my job to be the asshole.

Just reply.

I’ll get my manager for you!

Fun fact: Google is not a companies website.

Two things have happened in the last week.

Someone showed up at 8:50 for dinner recently. We turned them away. The insisted that our website said we are open till 9:00.

Our website has said we are open 5:00 till close since last October.

Tonight a gentleman came in and asked for a menu. He then asked to order take out. He got upset when he was told we don’t do take out.

He then asked to speak to the manager. Me.

I assured him in fact that we do not do take out.

He insisted our website said we did. Then showed me the google page on his phone.

I assured him that wasn’t our website. Which only made him more upset.

Yes I know we can update the information. But fir some reason it’s proven more difficult than it should be.

Meanwhile.

No.

Sometimes I forget to write down things that happen at work.

Then your friend Julie Myers writes that an Aperol Spritz would be great and that reminds you of something at work tonight.

Around 7:45 a server approached me needing a void.

I ask the all important question…

What did you fuck up this time?

He says a woman ordered an Aperol Spritz no Prosecco. Sub extra club soda.

He delivered the. Aperol Spritz.

She was upset because it contained alcohol.

Because she didn’t know Aperol had alcohol.

Even though it’s on our drink list.

Ugh.

Another woman sent back her Aperol Spritz because it was too sweet.

There is no sweetener in an Aperol Spritz.

It should be bitter.

Not sweet.

But what do I know?

Read my last post first. .

I realized it wasn’t actually a first.

We’ll sort of.

First according to the food runner, she was an elderly woman who didn’t make it to the bathroom.

So no.

She did not pop a squat.

Second.

Picture this.

Georgetown. 1985.

I’m a college student working at the local video store.

It’s a busy Saturday night. The store is packed.

I’m writing up an order.

It’s 1985. What’s a computer?

I look up and notice a small child playing with the stereo. It was for sale for $999.00. Next to the stack of VCR’s both Beta and VHS that we sold and rented.

I go back to waiting on people.

I look up again to see the same small child, around 3, pull down his pants and poop on the floor.

I’m stunned.

About this time the father notices, picks up the poop with his handkerchief, grabs the kid and leaves.

They didn’t come back for several weeks.

Every once in a while something happens at work and you go FUCK. That’s a first.

The first turn was quiet tonight. I attribute that to the gorgeous weather we’ve had all week.

Second turn was almost as busy as we could be. We also sat up till 8:45 and we close at 8:30 right now.

About 7:30 I come around the service bar side of the bar and I see water on the floor. Lots and lots of water. Like someone dumped a pitcher on the floor. But it’s not a puddle. The water starts at service bar goes around the chef’s table, past the kitchen to right in front of the doors leading to the kitchen.

I’m trying to figure out what the fuck happened.

While simultaneously getting people to clean it up.

I get two people on it and I walk up to the window and asked what happened. Surely someone saw.

A food runner tells us that a woman peed on the floor.

I say NO. Really what happened?

He doubles down and says, no that’s what happened.

I ask again, no seriously. What happened?

He insists an older lady peed on the floor.

Now I’m watching my employees clean up the floor without gloves and I’m saying to myself WTF.

As soon as it’s better, I send everyone to the kitchen to scrub their hands like that are about to do open heart surgery.

I still have no idea if it’s true, but the food runner was still swearing it was true as he left for the evening.

This was a first.

I write all my posts on the Facebook page each night.

Some nights I struggle with formatting, grammar, spelling, structure.

Some nights I write, hit publish and hope I do t sound like an idiot.

Once my posts are written, I cut and paste them to my blog.

The only difference is the I‘d Like to Speak to the Manager is the title of the blog so I delete that line from the post.

And the blog allows for a title post and so I have to be creative.

I strive most nights to make the title of the post theater related.

Tonight I got 2 for 2.

Make that 3 for 3.