For almost a year I’ve been sharing my experiences as a GM.

Fun fact: I waited tables until I was 47. This was something I was more than a little embarrassed about.

But.

Also fun fact: I documented my adventures as a server in a journal I kept. On line.

I realized a week or so ago that so much of what I do now Is based in what not to do.

We’ve all had bad managers. Really. Really. Really bad managers.

There was Mike. He was bi polar we think. When you entered the building you’d ask if he was working and about his mood. If it was bad. You kept your head down and stayed out of his way.

There was Karen, the GM of a well known restaurant in Lexington. She was MEAN. I seriously think because she was in the closet. She’d yell and scream. One night she called the entire wait staff into the walk-in where she screamed at the top of her lungs about how horrible we were.

There was Sherry who was straight out of restaurant management school. I was one of 2 servers on the floor. When she sat me my 12 th table I cursed. She fired me me for insubordination.

There was Keith who followed me out of the kitchen telling me all the ways I was bad at my job. You’re a fuck up. You’re fucking stupid. You’re fucking incompetent. I may or may not have launched a tray with four glasses on it at his head. Yelling fuck you! I got fired. But the follow up is fun.

There was the woman who tried to convince me not to take the job because all of their staff was gay. Hehehe.

There was the manager who granted me vacation time. Then scheduled me to work on the last day of my request and then tried to fire me. I used the word harassment a lot when I met with the GM. I got her transferred but that’s a story in and of itself.

There’s the manager….

The stories continue.

So as an extension of my I’d like to speak to the manager posts I’m going to share some stories from before I was a manager as well as posts of me waiting tables.

Fun will be had by all.

I’m a little more than 3 months from being a boomer. 102 days to be exact.

I’m happy that technically I’m not.

But emotionally I’m right there.

Get the fuck off my lawn.

Why are you driving so fast?

And.

I hate texting.

Hate it.

I read the text. Think to myself I’ll respond to that later.

And six days from now realize that I never did.

For the love of god, someone please tell me there’s away to mark a text as not read!!!

Tonight my new host picks up the phone.

As soon as he starts the conversation I know who he’s talking to.

An old co-worker I used to work with down the street. Someone who was kind of nasty when we were on our way out the door.

She had texted on Saturday asking for a reservation. I had every intention of responding and making the reservation.

But she texted.

And I read it.

An completely forgot about it.

Meanwhile he’s on the phone and we are 99% booked on Saturday. I take the iPad from him and find her a spot.

Pointing and leading him so I don’t talk to her.

Then I kick myself.

Because once again I’ve forgotten a text.

Tonight was pick your own table night.

Table 24.

They didn’t like that table. So I moved them to table 21.

Then they seated themselves at table 11.

Table 13.

They asked for a window seat before going in. So I moved them to table 33.

They asked for table 25.

I let the other host know they could move and as they were being seated they asked for table 13.

Which is where they’d been seated if they just left well enough alone.

I said no. 25 it was.

Table 13.

They had a bad back. Didn’t want a booth. Asked to move to 24.

They get seated then ask if they can move to 25.

They get moved.

Sit forever.

B19 and B20. Two seats at the bar.

They get seated.

Then reappear two seconds later asking to get moved to B30. A table for 2 that we just added.

Sometimes I think it would be easier if we just said seat yourselves.

Saturday night we had an 8 top come in.

It was 4 adults. 4 kids.

One of the kids was a baby, who became fussy.

Nothing new about this. Babies are often fussy.

So dad carried the baby around.

And in the process he stood:

In the service bar area watching tv.

In the wait station talking to a server.

In the entrance to the dining room from the wait station so no one could get through.

In front of the kitchen door.

In front of the entrance to the atrium.

For about 90 minutes he was where we needed to be.

He was quite nice. The baby was quite cute.

But it was Saturday night. We were busy. We had work to do.

I often wonder how this would be responded to in a different space.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

A week ago a regular was in for dinner.

I was standing at the host stand when he and his wife entered. We shook hands. I told them it great to see them. We got them seated.

I mentioned that I thought he looked like Clark Gable.

The host looked at me like I had two heads.

I said. Clark Gable. Gone With the Wind. Frankly my dear.

Blank stare.

She looks him up on the iPad.

Stares at me.

Says she’s never seen or heard of him.

I fire her on the door for being tooooooo young.

Of course she could have mention like three young actors and I’d look at her the same way.

What’s the matter with these kids today?

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I made a reservation in June over the weekend.

Realized there was already a reservation for that day.

Look at it.

The reservation is for five people.

It has a note attached.

The note says, “we are actually a party of ten.”

I think to myself who does this?

Would you show up to a concert with five extra people?

Would you show up to a wedding with five extra people?

Would you show up to a theater with five extra people?

I might not have seen this till hours before.

It had been made over a month ago.

Luckily the girl called over the weekend and I had to let her know we could take a 10 top but not at 7:00.

We adjusted the time and people count. Whew. That could have been bad.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Tonight.

A man put ketchup on his 60 dollar filet.

That is all.

PS. We have steak sauce but our chef abhors ketchup for anything other than hotdogs.

A couple comes in for their reservation.

I find it.

Start to pull menus to get them seated.

The woman looks at me and says I’ll need the gluten free menu.

Huh?

I don’t know a single non corporate restaurant that has a dedicated menu.

I explain that we have one menu.

She grunts.

I wait.

She waits.

Finally she says I’m sure we’ll be fine.

Fun fact.

The reason we have no specified gluten free memu is that 98% of our menu is gluten free.

Steak doesn’t have gluten.

Pork chops don’t have gluten.

Gluten free fryer available.

Most of our sides are gluten free.

Flourless chocolate cake gluten free.

You know who has a hard time eating at our restaurant?

Vegans.

Vegans have a hard time.

We had a 5:00 reservation that specifically asked for a quiet table. We don’t have a lot of those.

Luckily our atrium area was open tonight.

They were seated.

About five seconds after they were served their entrees the server lets me know they are unhappy.

Seems they feel the porterhouse is too small. The ribeye is too fatty.

I ask her if they want to send them back.

She says they declined and were joking about it.

I tell her to keep me posted.

She comes by again a little later.

The joking is getting more intense. But they still haven’t sent them back.

Fast forward another 30 minutes or so.

The server has dropped the check.

The wife is furious that we didn’t take the steaks off the bill.

The server explains I’m at the door and they can address their concern on their way out. She also lets me know they are taking their steaks to go.

About 60 seconds later the husband comes to the desk.

He’s trying to be friendly but he’s not happy.

They’ve spent two hundred dollars on a meal they weren’t happy with.

I inquire as to what the problem was.

Turns out the porterhouse was too rare. They’d ordered medium rare.

I ask if they informed the server so that we could add more fire to it.

He said no as they didn’t feel like they should have to.

I explain we would have been happy to cook it more.

He insists he shouldn’t have had to ask for that.

He then explains that the porterhouse was a also not 20 ounces. He’s been around the block a time or two and there is no way it’s 20 ounces.

I explain that the chef hand cuts and weighs every piece of meat we serve. I assure him it’s 20 ounces and more likely 21 or 22 ounces.

He starts to say something else when his wife appears.

She slams her to go box down on the counter, followed by the check and informs me she is not paying the check till I take the steaks off the bill.

I explain that since she ate one steak and is taking the other one home that I won’t do that.

She says fine, she’ll just leave and not pay any of the check.

I say that that is her choice but I’d call the police and file a report for failing to pay for services rendered. Since we have her name, phone number, and credit card information, it won’t take long for them to find her.

This really pisses her off.

At this point she opens the to go box, picks up the porterhouse with her bare hand and starts waving it at me.

She’s shouting, at me about how rare the steak is, insisting that it’s raw.

The husband joins in.

He picks up potatoes from the box telling me how undercooked they are.

I’m seriously about to laugh.

No one has ever shaken their meat at me.

Euphemism implied.

They continue.

I ask them why if the steaks are so bad why they are taking them with them.

She explains she’s taking it home to cook it more.

I tell her we could have done that for her.

This continues.

People are going to the restroom. Leaving. Coming in.

Finally she slams cash on the counter and tells me she wants change for her bill.

It’s 189. I get her change.

I try to unsarcastically say thank you.

She leaves.

20 minutes later she’s back.

She’s even more angry.

She yells at me that I didn’t deduct her gift card from the bill. I tell her I had no idea she had a gift card. She yells it’s written in the back of the check.

How the fuck would I have known that?

I leave. Process the gift card. Give her the extra 50 bucks back.

She leaves.

I think to myself.

Well. That was fun.

We had our first prom couple in tonight.

They arrived at 5:00. Were out by 6:00.

They were both beautiful.

He was short. She was tall.

What was stringing was the young man’s confidence.

He strolled in with all the swagger of John Wayne. I loved it.

He came in. Announced his reservation and was off to the table.

The server said they were very polite. And sweet.

The whole thing made me smile.