If you are over the age of 2, and definitely if you are over the age of 60, you don’t get to make fun of people.

Tonight I sat a party of the older gentlemen who pronounced their happiness over finally eating with us.

About 60 minutes into their meal I checked in with their server to see if they were happy.

She said they were but that they had been unrelenting with jokes about her name. Constant.

I’m sure they thought it was in good fun. But it is not a mutual power dynamic.

She has no idea how you will respond if she says something, or gets me involved. In some restaurants the manager may take their side. I’ve seen servers fired for less. You may not tip her. May leave a bad review. You might make up false allegations.

I’ve seen all of these thing happen.

All because grown ass men are treating people like children.

So the moral of the story is: leave the teasing to people you know. And absolutely don’t tease people about their appearance, name, sexuality, etc.

It’s not fucking cool.

My first Dear GM question:

Last night I ate out with my family at a restaurant we frequent regularly , we order well and usually have a couple of bottles of nice wine. My sister is friends with the owner, she’s probably there at least once a week, eating at the bar, etc..

We split several dishes between us. Restaurant is smallish and so is the excellent menu.
Among other dishes, my sisters and I ordered a duck bucatini & strip steak.

The waitress brought 2 plates of pork Bolognese. We told her that wasn’t what we had ordered and that we don’t eat pork. She returned with the same plates of Bolognese and we insisted again that we had ordered the bucatini and told her to take the Bolognese back. We wanted bucatini.

I eventually told her not to worry about it; everyone has that kind of moment. We ate the strip steak.

When she returned she brought 2 plates of bucatini. We were surprised, but figured it was a lovely and generous gesture since everyone else had finished their meals by this time.

Then the bill came: we were charged for 2 bucatini.

What to do?

We called the waitress over and went over it all. She got angry and walked away, saying “fine, “* I’ll pay for it, myself!*”.. She was having a bad night. Another person on the wait staff came by and said that although we had gotten the 2nd plate in error, that our “bellies were fuller”.

They ended up taking one of the bucatini off the bill, and we increased the tip amount to cover any charges the waitress incurred. However the whole thing left a bad feeling after an overall pleasant evening.

The waitress wouldn’t look at us as we left although she had been our server a number of times and we knew her by name.

We had clearly misread her 2nd error as a lovely gesture.

What do you think?

My response:

Hello.
First you did nothing wrong. While I do NOT agree that the guest is always right, mistakes do happen. Any good server, manager, or owner knows this. The key is to own the mistake and not to make excuses for it, blame it on someone else, and to immediately seek a solution to the problem.

For example, if you ordered a medium steak and it comes out medium rare, alert the server and have them ask the chef to give it a little more fire. It should take no more than 7 ir 8 minutes to get it back. And don’t be afraid to send it back. In all my years, no one sabotages the food. If you went to Macy’s and bought pants that were too small would you be afraid to take them back? You should always get what you ordered.

Something to remember in this scenario, especially in more upscale establishments is that the food is made to order so if the reverse happens if you ask for medium rare and it comes out medium well. Be prepared to wait. This is especially true during slower periods. When the restaurant is busy, they probably already have a version of your dish being prepared for someone else and they bump that dish to yours and start a new one for the guest who hasn’t gotten their food yet. But know that it is possible your replacement may take up to 15+ minutes.

If you do wait for 15+ minutes it is the restaurant’s discretion as to whether any discount should apply. I usually base my decision on how long you waited, how bad the mistake was, and whether additional apologies are needed. Not every mistake warrants the same response. I will say that I tend to be more generous to people who are gracious. If you are difficult, challenging, or rude in any way I am way less likely to extend any extra generosity. The truth is if you ordered it, and consumed it, ultimately you should pay for it. Just like at Macy’s if they deliver the wrong item, they usually don’t let you get the replacement for free.

As for the server’s response: Servers are a delicate bunch. Their jobs are hard, stressful and not for the weak of heart. Trust me. I waited tables off and on from 17 until I was 45. The whole situation would have gone differently if she’d just replied, “Oh no. Of course, I’ll get that corrected and bring what you wanted right out. However, there is a sense of pride that rests in a lot of hospitality workers and they have an undeclared need to be right. I’ve seen server’s die on this sword, when a simple let me get that corrected for you would have sufficed.

By the time you asked for the item that you didn’t order to be taken off the check the manager should have been involved. You could have described the problem and it’s truly a 15 second fix. They brought you something you didn’t order. You ate it. You’d be surprised how often this happens, especially if you know the chef, manager, owner, it’s not uncommon to have items brought to your table as a surprise.

It’s also a myth that servers have to pay for their mistakes, assuming that the owner isn’t unscrupulous. Mistakes are made every night. The cost is built into the price of the items you do order. The server’s attitude speaks to her own performance and nothing you did. She should have owned the mistake, had the manager remove the item, come back to the table and apologize. However, she’s been my co-worker and she’s worked for me…servers who take everything as a personal affront to their abilities. I have to admit in my 20’s I might have been the same. It was never my fault. As you age, you discover that taking the higher road is actually easier. It results in less stress and ultimately keeps everyone happy.

Truly, it was probably not you she was responding to. It’s the two ladies who came in for lunch and tipped her 5%. It’s the older couple who complained about the music, the air conditioning, the French fries and the coffee. It’s the business man who ran his hand down her backside as he bent over to get his napkin. It’s the owner who yells when mistakes are made and doesn’t allow for their staff to be human. I’ve talked about getting beaten up as a manager, but if I’m the leader, the serving staff are the soldiers on the front line. They take so much abuse that anyone who has never served would understand.

It was all of these things, none of them your fault. I love that you chalked it up to her having a bad day. I love even more that you tipped well, in spite of the events of the evening. Hopefully, she’ll remember that when you and your sister return.

When you sit down in a restaurant they hand you a menu. The menu has a list of the items the chef has offered. And next to each item is a price.

At that point you look at the menu and decide whether you can afford to eat there. We are the exception, but 99.99999% of the time the menu is available on line. You can decide this before you make the reservation. Before you are seated.

I bring this up because over the past three weeks we’ve gotten several surveys that praise the food, praise the service, praise the ambiance. Then they rate the restaurant a 60% because we are expensive.

And yes. We are expensive.

But. However. Wait a minute.

Compared to whom?

In our little town we are on par with most of the other upscale restaurants. Compared to steak house serving our quality of product we are actually below market value. Significantly below market value. If we were is Boston you could 25+ more to each of our items. Plus. We are not ala carte.

We are NOT fancy like Applebees with the bourbon street steak and the Oreo shake.

We are not fancy at all. Five times a week someone calls to ask about dress code. Without fail I say formal. White coat and tails. Evening dresses. Then I explain that unless you are eating at a hotel resort no one in Maine is formal. Shorts. Jeans. Suit. Your choice. At David’s a boat pulled up once and three girls in two piece bikinis and flip flops were seated for lunch on the deck. We are fancy like Becky’s with a steak and cheese and whoopie pie.

Yes. Not everyone can afford to eat at my restaurant weekly. But we are located in a tourist town, with amazing food, stellar service, and the space looks magazine worthy. The community is wealthy. So we want to be their weekly dinner. We want people on vacation looking for one stellar meal to come to our place. And when you want to celebrate your 50th anniversary. We are your spot of choice. We also want to be your neighborhood spot for a beer and a burger.

So yes, we might be your special occasion spot but don’t give us a 60% because of that. Be grateful we ARE your special event spot.

Don’t complain that we are not fancy like Applebees. If we were you’d be at the restaurant down the street.

Hi all.

I took the week off from posting as I convalesced on the couch. I spent the week moving from the bed to the couch and back to bed.

I was bizarrely surprised at how little pain there was and but how fucking tired I was.

After 6 days of being bored out of my mind I went back to work today.

It felt great to have a reason to wake up, get dressed and go somewhere. It also felt nice to see people again.

The reception I got today was wonderful.

From guests and staff alike. But mostly staff. I genuinely felt as though they missed me. Which has not always been the case at restaurants I’ve managed. Lots of hugs, and expressions of love.

The shift went great no grumpy people. No one yelled at me. No recooks. No unhappy staff. All was good.

Except that by 8:00 I was exhausted. I was super happy to sit down at 9:00.

The only other issue was that I had not had pants on in a week. And turns out my belt sits at the line of scars across my tummy. So they were irritated all day.

And.

I stand up at my desk at work. And the edge of my desk is at the same level as my belt which is the same level as my scars. My tummy was tender when I left.

However.

I have two days off to recuperate and then I’ll be back to it on Wednesday.

Thanks again for the well wishes.

I’ll be back to posting this week.

Missed you all!

I have a healthy number of superstitions in my life.

I have to brush my teeth before I shave.

I have to put my right shoe on first.

I have to do the cat treats in a specific order.

When I was designing my office had to be put away and my drafting table had to be spotless before I could start a project.

I never shaved after tech started until opening night. Never.

As a GM I have others.

I have to have coffee first thing upon getting there.

I say hello to say everyone in the building while the coffee brews.

I say goodbye to everyone at the end of the night.

One of my most important is to never say it’s going to be a slow night.

It jinks the night. Business might not be there but there’ll be a ton of mistakes. We’ll run out of French Fries. We’ll find out at 5:15 we are out of CO2. One fun night years ago, we ran out of propane. It’s hard to cook food when there’s no propane.

So I prefers the term quiet. It will result in an uneventful night.

So I said this at work one night last week and my server who is a nurse, lets call her Stephanie, because that’s her name said, oh no. And proceeded to tell me that nurses NEVER say quiet on the floor at the hospital. It was destined to cause total chaos. Every nurse knows this.

When I got to the hospital today I was the first patient to arrive at 6:00 am. However by 6:15 the place was hopping.

So when I was put in my wheel chair to be taken down to meet Adam Beckworth, the place was deserted.

So I said to my nurse, Wow! It’s so quiet now.

There were yelps from the whole nursing staff. Who followed up with NEVER SAY THAT!!!!!!!

My nurse explained they were between what I’d call seatings. It would be busy again soon, and as they were short staffed saying quiet would result in chaos.

And off to the elevators we went.

And this post is courteous of the Hallmark movie Hearts of Christmas.

They had a retiring nurse coming in to work the night shift and said she always liked that shift because it was so QUIET.

I heard all the nurses from my surgery today gasp.

I love writing these posts.

It reminds me of how much I loved writing my old blog 10 years ago.

I grew up being told I was a bad writer. I also never enjoyed adademic writing. Therefore I avoided writing at all cost.

I barely got out of English 1 freshman year of college.

I put off finishing my master’s degree because I didn’t want to write my final paper.

I chose my MFA program because it was good. You have no idea how happy I was to learn the thesis was actually your final production, it’s documentation and the thesis was only 2 paragraphs.

I just tried to look up my MFA thesis. It was called “What I Learned During Happy Hour”. It was 2 paragraphs on the value of bonding with your classmates. I just tried to look it up but I don’t have access.

So in the early 2000’s there were a number of blogs I started reading. As I was finishing grad school I thought it might be fun to record my adventures. So I started a blog about my life and my return to NYC. I wrote religiously until we moved to Maine.

I’d sit at my desk and write about the city. My design gigs. Many, many, many posts about waiting tables. Eventually about the man I met. Fell in love with. And started a life with.

When we got to Maine we became caught up in life, Facebook had taken over by then and my writing fell by the wayside.

Along the way though, I learned that I had a voice. I had a style of writing that wasn’t formal, had a casual tone to it and good or bad I enjoyed it.

Fast forward to today. I have really enjoyed writing these posts. I find myself spending more time writing than I do on Facebook reading posts.

The most challenging part of the writing is deciding what to write. Sometimes it’s right there. I wrote the first sentence snd 20 minutes later I’m done. Sometimes, like tonight, the voice inside my head is quiet, and I have to struggle to find a post.

I have no expectations from these posts. As I have said before, it’s my outlet for venting. It’s my therapy. It’s my ability to stay sane in the insanity that is the hospitality industry.

I have committed to trying to post daily. Mostly because I want it to be a habit. Part of my day like brushing my teeth, or feeding the cats. Something I’m obliged to do, even if I don’t feel like it. Especially when I don’t feel like it. I’ve learned this from my friends who are accomplished writers to which I have many. Write every day.

So I write every day.

So good or bad. I enjoy it.

And I thank you all for coming along for the journey.

As we’ve learned about ten millions times before…we take reservations at the bar.

Therefore, tonight was no different.

The bar was busy. Full first turn. Full second turn.

Unfortunately, everyone who was sat in the first turn, sat indeed. They didn’t move. We had four couples who sat for 3+ hours. Which meant we were running late.

Around 7:30 a girl walks in and says she meeting her friends who are already here. We have no idea who she’s meeting because we have no incomplete parties.

About 30 seconds later Lexie, the bartender, appears asking if the girl at B19 was okay to be there.

I say absolutely not. We have just caught up at the bar, and we still have 6 more reservations to go.

I walk over to the chairs and say excuse me, unfortunately you can’t sit here.

They ask why?

I say because we have reservations coming in.

They reply, are they here yet?

Not yet but they are due any minute. (They aren’t due till 8:00 but I’ve played this game before).

They ask if they can sit here and have one drink.

I say, no.

They ask if they can get a drink and move to the lobby.

I explain that they can’t.

They say, so you’re turning away business?

I say, No. I’m not turning away business. I’m making sure the people who made reservations have a seat when they get here.

They try to push back. I say I’m sorry but you can’t.

They are very unhappy and start to argue.

I’m done. I walk around the bar, tell Alexis (I typed Lexie, it auto corrected to Alexis, which is what I call Lexie to annoy her. When the book knows it knows), not to serve the new girl and to drop the check.

She does.

It’s now 7:40.

And they sit.

And sit.

And sit.

At 8:00 they are still there.

The reservation is Jason from last Sunday. He’s always late. As you know.

Around 8:01 Lexie appears to ask what’s going on. I tell her we need the chairs. Or will any minute.

She’s replies, consider it done.

About 90 seconds the women walk through the lobby. I expected them to say something, but they left quietly.

The thing that is most annoying is that they stayed to just be mean. No other reason.

Kind of like a 13 year old proving a point.

I started my day worrying that today was going to be a tough one. We went to bed too late, I had to be up early. About 6 hours of sleep, which is way to little for me. I’m a 9+ hour a night guy.

So I got to work and jumped right in.

Phone calls go great. Reservations are increasing. They are spread out. Settling in for a busy night.

Things start to spiral around 4:30.

The staff is behind on set up. I’m having trouble wrangling them. We finally gather to meet at 4:35, five minutes late, which ended later than usual.

Then getting candles out took what seemed like 16 hours. Then the men’s restroom had no soap in either dispenser. No one can find the soap. It’s now 4:57, the doors should have opened at 4:45, I have no staff. God knows where they are but they aren’t in the lobby waiting to seat our first turn.

I personally unlock the doors and in comes the first guests.

Hi I need a gift certificate. I send her to the bar.

Hi we have a 5:00 reservation. I get them seated.

The host appears at this point. I trade spots with her.

And at almost the same time Mrs. Samuels walks through the door.

Uh. Oh.

I didn’t even know she was coming in. Her name wasn’t in the book the last time I looked.

She marches in and announces that she is here for her 5:30 reservation. It’s 5:06.

The host explains that it will be a few minutes before we’ll be able to get her seated.

She’s having none of this. She demands that we show her the table. She wants to approve it.

A food runner who is helping us seat takes her to show her the table. Three seconds into the dining room and Mrs Samuels see’s Jen the server. She stops her trip to see the table and demands that Jen be her server. Jen speaks with her briefly and then Mrs. S is shown her table. She once again demands Jen be her server and is led back to the lobby.

I’m watching all of this from afar.

I ask the food runner what she said. She was not happy with the table and demanded Jen be her server. Jen approaches and offers to wait on her. I’m not sold on arranging this. Jen is less excited when she learns she’ll lose a four top if she takes the two of them.

I decide we’ll leave things alone.

I go back to the lobby. Say hi to someone I haven’t seen since I’ve been back. I get a big hug. We chat for a few. I take her to her seats.

I come back and it’s time to seat Mrs Samuels. A server is handed two menus and sent off to seat her.

About 90 seconds there is a scene in the lobby. Mrs. S is at the desk yelling at the host about how she will not sit next to children. She is very angry.

The host started to respond and I stepped in, moved the host aside and addressed Mrs S. I said you aren’t seated next to children, and I’m in the middle of this sentence, when I learn that the sever had taken her to the wrong table.

She is led back into the dining room and is seated.

As she walks away I look at the foursome seated on the sofa and read the woman sitting there’s lips as she says people can be real assholes.

She sees me and I smile and say, I’m sorry did you say something.

She smiles and says I was just saying how much I admire your sofa. It’s very comfortable.

I said, thought that’s why you said. She smiles. I smile. She knows. I know.

About four minutes later it’s time to seat the foursome on the couch, I greet them and ask them to follow me.

The woman takes this opportunity to apologize for the behavior of Mrs S.

We get to their table and guess where they are seated? Right next to Mrs Samuels.

The woman turns to me and says, Seriously???? I said I am but not on purpose.

The night continues.

Table 11 thinks their steak is too small. It’s not. They think their side salad is too small. It’s not.

Bar seats 21 and 22 are angry because I won’t take their reservation for 14 people because 12 is the most we take.

At least four tables are upset because we ran out of chicken parm. At 5:15.

The night never really got better.

HOWEVER.

Every few minutes I catch the woman from the sofas eye and she starts laughing. She is right next to the wait station.

At one point she says I don’t know why I laugh every time I look at you. I reply that my mother always said the same thing.

I go back to my night and in my next circle through the dining room I notice Mrs Samuels has gone.

The woman from the sofa calls me over and proceeds to tell me how difficult Mrs S really was. She sent her drink back. She sent her entree back. She complained about the music volume. She didn’t like anything.

I thank them for being so sweet. And supportive. And I explain that Mrs S wasn’t really that bad. Yes, she yelled but she didn’t make it personal, call me an asshole, or never let it go. So in the big scheme of things I explain sometimes it’s so much worse.

Her husband pipes up at this point, he very handsome if your interested, to say he’s in law enforcement but there’s no way he could my job. He thought what he dealt with was bad. But he’d never want people yelling at him like that.

They leave.

The night continues. It never really gets better.

It ends.

I come home.

Hug Adam. Hug Judy.

Pour a bourbon.

Write a post.

I survived it.

So full disclosure about Mrs Samuels. She is immune compromised. So I understand her want to be separated from people. I understand her not wanting to be near kids. I understand her wanting to protect herself.

However.

Somewhere along the way she decided the way to keep herself safe is to treat everyone like shit. She never explains herself when she makes the reservation. She doesn’t ask for allowances.

She shows up and yells, and demands, and gets mad when we don’t bow to her.

And I know her name. She didn’t make her reservation until 4:30. I didn’t know she was coming till she appeared. At that point it’s too late to adjust things to help her. If only she’d said all of the things she needed before she got there.

I understand her fear, but it doesn’t excuse her behavior.

The krazy was strong tonight.

The most krazy?

Seats B5 and B6.

About 15 minutes after I sat them, the bartender, we’ll call Lexie because that’s her name, arrives to let me know the gentleman is pushing her buttons. And he seems to be doing it on purpose.

First, he keeps referring to her as young lady. With a condescending tone accompanying the term.

Then he discovered that we are an Argentinian restaurant. And that there is a photo of Eva Peron near the bar.

He asks Lexie if she knows who that is, without pausing telling her it’s Eva Peron. Do you know who she is? Do you know what she did?

She replies, yes I knows who she is because I saw Evita.

He then says Well, that doesn’t tell the whole story.

He is unrelenting.

And continues to call her young lady.

She finally chooses to let the other bartender deal with him and chooses to pretend she doesn’t hear him.

Finally he and his wife finish dinner, get up and head to the lobby.

Fun fact: When a guest has been annoying, particularly difficult, or a complete and total douche bag I make sure I’m in the lobby to say good night. I casually ask how their dinner was to see what response I will get. 99.9999% of the time they’ll say great. Occasionally they’ll take this opportunity to let me know their real thoughts.

So I ask him how his dinner was…

He says great but that he thinks Lexie didn’t care for him and he didn’t understand why. He continues that she became annoyed when he started explaing about the Peron’s.

I apologize and say I’m sorry to hear that.

At which point he calls me young man and says he’d rather be punched in the nose than be patronized.

He then calls me young man again as he launches into all the things that are bad about the Perons.

I just listen. He’s about 45 seconds into his monologue when his wife walks back into say, enough. Let’s go.

He keeps talking about the 1,000’s of people who disappeared under their reign.

I started to say if you think a thousand people disappearing is bad, wait till you hear about the founding of the United States. I keep quiet.

He is finally pulled out of the lobby.

I think to myself as he leaves:

Have I said too much?
There’s nothing more
I can think of
To say to you
But, all you have to do
Is look at me to know
That every word
Is true!

Don’t cry for me Argentina.

When I started my job I was asked what number I wanted on my business cards.

Did I want the restaurant number?

Or.

My personal cell number?

There are reasons for doing both.

I know restaurant GMs that do use their cell numbers. It means issues are dealt with faster. There is a direct line of communication.

Going with the restaurant number means you aren’t being called at 8:00 am on your day off to see if you have availability on Wednesday before thanksgiving for a party of 6.

I chose the restaurant number.

Which brings me to my point.

Almost every day someone tells me to just text them the answer to their question.

I don’t like text messages in general. I’m not much better with emails and FB messages. I forget that I read it. I read the email at 3:00 am on my day off, after a few bourbons and completely forget that I read it. Next thing you know I respond to it three days later and totally missed it was time sensitive. Or that I already responded to it.

The other reason I don’t like text messages is that sometimes it would be a 30 second phone call. But it’s 20 minutes worth of text messages.

So no. I’m not going to text you. I’m going to call you. I’m going to leave a message. And I’ll wait for you to call me back.