Can we talk about social media in the corporate world?

999 out of every 1,000 businesses have a social media presence. Yes. Some businesses don’t engage that way. They are few and far between.

For the rest of us it’s a grab bag of how it’s executed.

At large corporations like Wendy’s who have funny and engaging posts they have a full time, 24 hour a day team, who monitors their feed.

Some businesses hire a professional marketing team to do this.

Some places rely on the internal marketing team to do social media.

Other businesses give it to a 22 year old intern and they post and monitor the feed.

Until this restaurant, I was responsible for the content. Coming up with content isn’t actually very hard. What’s hard is carving out the time to do it between writing schedules, budgets, meetings, payroll, inventory, invoicing, and actual day to day operations.

Also, unless you’ve hired a professional photographer, framing the photographs, with decent lighting, context and composition can take much longer than you have. There is a reason people get paid big bucks to photograph food.

And it’s a whole other issue if you want it to be funny, informative, and entertaining.

This is a long way of saying most businesses don’t have someone monitoring their feeds 24 hours a day.

Which is a long way of saying that if you need information, a reservation, have a billing problem, a gift card issue, a complaint, a compliment, etc it’s so much better to reach out to the restaurant directly.

I have had instances where you check your messages and discover someone sent you a message two weeks ago.

It’s really bad when the message was time sensitive.

So for the person who left the message this week about a gift card issue. The outcome was we messaged you back to say call the restaurant so we can discuss the problem with you.

So if you’d called to begin with you’d already have a solution.

Most of my staff knows about my posts. 50% of them read it on Facebook. 50% read it on the blog.

So many of them have NO social media accounts. Bob doesn’t have a cell phone let alone Tik Tok.

I’ve been asked why I don’t post about them….

Truth is, I’d could write five posts a night about the stuff they do. That’s another book in and of itself.

However, I’d never discuss employee issues in a public forum.

Unless

It’s so embarrassingly funny the world needs to know.

Like when someone asks if he have a sommelier and they say yes, by the glass.

My staff is stellar. They still surprise me. I tell everyone my worst staff member would be a rockstar any where else.

They occasionally do do (I said dodo)stupid stuff though.

We serve a mixed grill.

It’s an assortment of most of our meats. Chicken. Skirt steak. Long bone. Sweet breads. Sausages.

It serves two.

It’s also served on a small barbecue grill with coals in it to keep the food warm.

Last week a server found the trash can in the dish area smoldering because someone had thrown their hot ashes in the trash can.

I also have an employee who says we don’t have regular beers because all we serve is craft beer. We have no bud light. No Miller Lite. No PBR.

I have another server who is amazing. Her guests love her. She makes 24+% every shift. She still gets confused about the table numbers. Even when looking at the seating chart.

And one server kept seating the bar wrong because he thought we had 24 seats not the actual 23 seats we do.

That being said, I love them all. I appreciate them all. I think they are amazing. They, for the most part make my job easy.

It is so awesome to stand at the door and receive the compliments on the staff. And it’s all of them.

So for those of you reading this thank you! Keep up the good work.

It’s Sunday night. Which for those of you who work with me, you know it’s our Friday. Two much needed days off.

As with any employee, at any job, we strive for Friday’s to be easy.

Which is why we were all excited when we got to work today. A modest amount of reservations for the evening. But all but six were in the first turn. Six of them were at 7:00.

Dang. If this holds true we should be locking the doors around 9:15.

Fuck yeah!

I ask the chef about this just before we open the doors. He says we take walkins and reservations till 8:00. Then we’ll call it a night.

The night goes super smooth. Easy. Just as we wanted it.

7:00 comes and goes. All the reservations are seated. We are all in. (Lingo meaning all the reservations are seated. We’ll often say all in 12 open. Which means reservations are seated with 12 people who need to order).

Smooth sailing.

The phone rings.

It’s 7:15.

Something told me to let it go to voicemail.

My integrity said pick it up.

And so I did.

Hi thank you for calling. How can I help you?

Jeff. Jeff. Is that you?

Yes. This is he. How can I help you?

Hi this is Jason. Any chance we can get in at 7:45 tonight.

I take the deepest of breaths. And say………..yes. We can do that.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I know who he is. He’s known for sitting forever.

Fuck.

Then the phone rings again.

It’s Jason asking to make it 5 people instead.

Fuck.

I change the reservation.

Then I strategize about where to seat them.

I ultimately decide to seat them in the main dining room so they’d be aware that we were empty. So maybe, just maybe they wouldn’t stay forever.

7:45 comes and goes. No Jason.

He finally arrives at 7:50.

I say he, because he’s alone.

He’s seated.

And we wait. And wait. And wait.

The rest of him family arrives ar 8:10. 25 minutes late. Only 4 people though.

The first thing his wife does is request to move to the private dining room.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

They order a bunch of appetizers but want to wait on entrees. Our chef is not having this. By now our fire is 70% out.

We get the entree order.

Six entrees. There’s only four of them. Why you ask? Because two orders are to go. He knows we don’t do take out.

The food finally hits the table. And they eat.

Four minutes after finishing the kids are picked up by the grandparents and now it’s just Jason and his wife.

It’s 9:15.

And now.

We wait.

And wait we did.

They finally left around 10:30. They were the only two guests in the building for way more than an hour.

Seriously.

We were all just waiting.

I sent the dishwasher home at 10:00.

So here’s my question:

How does one become this selfish? So selfish that only your time is important? Is it because he’s rich and can buy our servitude? He’s a regular. But not a regular regular. Not like Kristen, Mel, Tim, Brian who all have standing reservations. All of these people come in once a week if not more. One of them has eaten at our restaurant more than 200 times since February. He’s a regular regular. I can set my watch by how long he’ll be in the restaurant

Jason is maybe a couple of times a month.

I digress.

I’d never ever walk into a restaurant at closing time. Especially if it’s empty.

I’d never sit for 90 minutes after everyone leaves.

I’m the one who will pee his pants before I disturb my neighbor on a plane to go to the restroom.

I’m the opposite of Jason. To my detriment. I’ll suffer to keep from being a burden to someone.

So teach me how to be selfish. Teach me to be rich with my bank account.

Since my first week of being a GM, I committedmyself to being a teacher to those on my staff who are young.

I’ll never forget during our first hiring event before David’s even opened a young man named Charlie came in for an interview. He looked at the floor while telling me he was outgoing and confident.

I hired him. Then took the opportunity to coach him on his handshake, his eye contact, and his answers. He worked for me for two summers.

Same summer a parent called me up to discuss her daughter’s schedule. She called at 7:00 on a Saturday night. I very curtly informed her that I’d never discuss a schedule at 7:00 on Saturday and I’d never discuss her daughters schedule with her, as she, the mother, didn’t work for me. She hung up on me. The daughter never returned.

I’ve had lots of conversations with young employees.

A young man, named Nick was a food runner our first season at David’s. Our second season I let him be a junior bartender. Meaning, he worked Monday through Friday lunches on service bar. He didn’t complain, because he was learning.

All summer long he spoke of being a ski bum in Colorado.

I have had the following conversation a million times with young staff members.

Learn to wait tables. Bartend. Cook.

Then put your shit in your car, a truck, a uhaul. And drive someplace fun. Nebraska, Iowa, Florida, San Diego, Alaska. You have a desired skill. You can get a job.

Go have fun. Come home when your ready.

This is the story of my personal life.

Meanwhile, Nick stayed in Maine because of his girlfriend.

She broke up with him on Christmas Eve 2014.

Two days later he gave notice. Last I heard from him he was in Colorado.

Big intro to my real post.

I use my job as a teaching tool.

When I started at my current job I had a haram of hot boys who were food runners. Seriously, the ugly one could work for Abercrombie.

I did not hire them. I’ve only hired hot girls since I started. You know who you are. Especially Bob and Garrett

Any way.

First of August, a food runner gets his shifts covered so he can drive to New Jersey to see his girl friend. Perfect.

Unfortunately, his friend, going with him doesn’t get his shifts covered.

He texts about four minutes before his shift to say he won’t be there.

I don’t text back.

Weekend comes and goes.

Wednesday rolls around and the texting, missing employee shows up for his shift.

He does his opening side work and I ask to see him in G4.

When he arrives, he finds me and our sous chef Joe. My witness.

90 seconds later he is terminated and on his way home.

He was totally perplexed as to why, although he missed his shifts with no excuse.

Once again, long build up.

This employee’s mom was in for dinner. I ask about him. I let her know that she can let him know we’d be happy to have him back next summer.

Which led her to say, thank you for teaching him a lesson. Thank you for making him come to work and doing the grunt work before you fired him. Thank you for making him grow up. He definitely learned a lesson.

It reminded me that I made the right decision. It also reminded me that my job is a teaching job.

And I was glad his mom wasn’t mad at me.

Whew!

Birthdays are the fucking worst.

There I said it.

Why you ask?

Well.

First.

Chain restaurants have made everyone believe they are special for being born.

My old boss used to say everyone has a birthday, Why should that cost me money.

Second.

No one over the age of 3 is surprised by a dessert being brought to the table with a candle.

Here’s the deal.

It’s a pain. Your server has to be told. If we catch it. And I appreciate that you told me on the way to the table but we are knee deep in people and I’m easily distracted.

Also, not every restaurant has a person in the kitchen who is skilled at writing messages in chocolate on your plate.

And, if the birthday girl absolutely doesn’t want dessert what are we supposed to do?

We don’t give free desserts. So if no one orders dessert we are really in a pickle.

So, tell your waiter. Order dessert. Don’t be super sneaky. The person knows it’s their birthday. They are 50. The reason you are all together is because it’s their birthday.

And don’t yell at me when we forget. Do you know who specializes in birthdays? Chuckie Cheese. Go there.

Please!

Tonight was a weird night.

Weird energy.

Weird weather.

Perfect for Halloween weekend.

Except for a little snafu at the start of the night everything was going well.

Around 7:45 a couple comes in for their 8:15 reservation. By all measures, the couple sitting at their table should be up any second now.

PS. The couple at their table is Mr Finn’s daughter and her partner. She had told me she’d be in. She’s so sweet. I bought them dessert. I thanked for her kindness during her last visit.

However, Mr. Finn’s daughter isn’t budging. So we are worried we’ll run late.

Meanwhile, while the couple is waiting, I’m at the door.

The gentleman asks for a nice table.

I tell him all our tables are nice.

He asks to see a menu

We asks if it’s Latin food.

I explain we are an Argentinian steakhouse.

Nothing in depth.

Staccato Questions.

Staccato answers.

He eventually tells me he and his wife own a restaurant.

Ugh. Here goes.

It turns out it’s a real restaurant. Upscale. Beautiful space. He asked me to look it up on the iPad.

Suddenly the conversation takes a turn. More engaging. More warm. For both of us.

They’ve owned it for a while. They do 1.3 million a year in event revenue. He’s the operations manager. She’s the chef.

They have great staff. Been with them forever. Her sous chef for 18 years. They’ve been staffed all summer.

I share our staffing information.

She talks about being a working chef. How they’ve gone away for the weekend to celebrate her birthday. They can do this because of their excellent management team.

Around this time a table exits. And the host and I look at each other with the same idea.

She whispers that she’s going to bus F5.

I say I’ll ask the question.

I explain to them that their table is running late. However, the chef’s table is now free. It will offer a chance to see our chef and the kitchen in action. They’ll be able to see the flow of the restaurant. Also the server at the chef’s table will offer a great experience.

They bite.

And the rest of their evening was magical to quote them. They had an amazing time. Their server, who we’ll call Jen, because that’s her name, pulled out all the stops. Including singing happy birthday to the wife when she brought dessert.

Our chef came out and they chatted for about 20 minutes. Turns out they have lots of mutual acquaintances.

When they left they stopped by the host stand again to let me know how grateful they were for their magical evening.

It really is experienced like this that remind me why I like my job.

A reservation that should have been just like the other 45 reservations tonight turned out to be amazing for the guests and us.

They also tipped the server around 50%. And gave me 20 for making their night.

Cheers. To nice people.

PS. Their restaurant which is pretty busy and pretty big is in a very small town in Connecticut. About six minutes after I sat the couple another couple comes by on their way out. The woman goes to the restroom, the husband I chat. Turns out they live in the same small Connecticut town and know the owners. They didn’t want to interrupt their dinner but did tell me to tell them hi.

Small world. Isn’t it.

The phone rings.

I answer.

Hi. I’m John. I’ve known George the owner for years.

(I interrupt to say that our owner has a Spanish name that begins with a G. In English his name would be pronounced with a J. In Spanish it’s pronounced with an H sound. You know who really knows him by how they pronounce his name).

He doesn’t know him.

He then explains that he’s looking for takeout.

Which we don’t do.

But before I can say this he explains that he’s actually looking for Uber Eats.

I laugh.

You can’t get a regular Uber at my restaurant, let alone Uber Eats.

I explain that we have neither takeout or Uber Eats.

He expresses his displeasure and hangs up.

Perhaps it’s an untapped revenue stream for us.

Here’s a story about the Finns who came in last night.

Their story began on Wednesday night around 7:45.

The phone rings.

It’s Mr Finn.

He begins by letting me know how disappointed he is with us because no one has returned his call.

I explain that we don’t return messages that come in after service starts till the next day.

He angrily says, I called at 4:50. Service starts at 5:00. You should have called.

He’s technically not wrong.

He’s called to let us know that he booked a high top when he made his reservation because it was the only thing available. But he and his wife are in their 80’s and his daughter is in her 60’s so a high top will just not do.

For someone who needs something from me he is not very nice.

For a 1/10th of a 1/10th of a 1/10th of a second I think about saying tough luck.

But there are several openings and I not only move them, I give them one of the best tables in the restaurant.

Fast forward.

Last night I’m standing at the door and in walks a party. Far from pleasant.

I ask if they have reservations and he grunts yes.

It takes 1 seconds for me to know it’s the Finns.

I send them off to be seated.

I literally turn around to greet the next table when a server arrives to let me know table 12 wants the music turned down. It’s the Finns.

That’s a whole separate post that I’ve started twice and veered from, but long story short we don’t turn the music down. Remind me next week to explain.

I tell the server, of course I’ll turn it down.

I always tell them that.

I never turn it down.

I go back to seating people.

15 minutes later the server is back. Table 12 demands we turn the music down.

I say okay.

Go back to seating people.

30 minutes later the server lets me know that table 12 is demanding to speak with a manager.

I go to the table.

It’s my first time really looking at them. Two really, really old folks. A youthful looking daughter.

I introduce myself.

He launches in.

Turn down the music.

I try to explain.

He’s having none of it.

I try again.

He shuts me down.

While I’m talking I can clear as day see him shooting squirrels with a BB gun and yelling at kids to get off his lawn.

I’m watching this movie in my head when his daughter interrupts and says, enough dad, you’ll be fine.

I leave.

15 or 20 minutes later I’m at the host stand when the daughter goes to the restroom.

She stops.

And apologizes for her parents. She says that she and her sister for years have been apologizing for her parents grumpiness. She says she always lingers at the end of the meal to say sorry.

I explain, that I too had a mother who enjoyed being grumpy. That I loved her dearly but could never understand why she was so impatient. (We actually discovered later it was because she had secretly started smoking again and when she hung out with family she was suffering from nicotine withdrawal. Who wouldn’t be grumpy?).

She went to the restroom and when she came out we chatted some more.

She ended the conversation by letting me know she was coming in with her partner on Saturday. Did I mention she was a lesbian. It made me love her even more!

She goes back to the table.

Eventually she comes back to the door. They are finished. She’s going to get the car.

She pulls up and the parents come from the dining room.

I ask how dinner was.

They say the food was great. But they are disappointed in me. I never turned the music down and I did nothing for their daughter’s birthday which is why they were here.

I apologize but they aren’t having it.

They leave.

30 seconds later the daughter reappears and hands me money.

She explains that not only are her parents grumpy. They are also cheap.

I think to myself: My mom could be cranky but once upon a time she was a server. She always tipped at least 20% so I never had to pay for her grumpiness.

Here’s the thing.

We aren’t Chuckie Cheese and we really don’t do anything for birthdays. And we really don’t do anything if you don’t say can we get a candle.

Also your daughter is at least 60. It might be a bit late for you to do birthday surprises.

I really want to be understanding. But I am over excusing old people for being assholes. I don’t care that you’re 87. Be nice. It’s easy.

A friend just published this book.

I seriously hope being cranky is one of them.

https://www.amazon.com/Stupid-Things-Wont-When-Unapologetically/dp/0806541008

I work in a very small community.

Everyone knows everyone.

So everyone knows my chef/owner.

Lots of people have his personal cell number.

And they will text him directly for a reservation.

My chef/owner is a super, awesome great guy.

So.

He never says no.

Tonight.

He called me.

On the restaurant phone.

He was in the kitchen.

To ask for a reservation for three.

At the bar.

At 7:00.

If this is your first post from me today, below this you’ll know that the bar was stacked tonight.

I did not have room for three at the bar.

Fun fact.

You can’t say no to chef.

He tells me that he told his friends to just come in.

We’d just figure it out.

Would you believe it, that this doesn’t annoy me. He’s such a great guy. And truth is, as I told Stephanie tonight, it always works out.

So it’s 5:05.

I have two hours to figure this out.

As I told Joe, at one point tonight I looked at the reservations and the numbers started to move and light up like in the movie A Beautiful Mind.

I had my answer.

The Smiths were celebrating their 14th anniversary. I’d move them from the bar to the dining room.

I’d move the Jones’ there.

The Johnson’s’ here.

Suddenly I had three chairs where I didn’t before.

All was good in the world.

It always works out.

And if it doesn’t they yell at me.

Which is why I get the big bucks.

Guess who else was in tonight?

You’ll never guess.

Remember the really attractive girl, who looks like the hostesses in NYC who waited for her date etc? The one who was late for her reservation and used her pouty lip to try and get seated late?

Yeap.

She arrives at 6:30.

1 at the bar.

No reservation.

As you already know. The bar was fucking booked.

Really, really, really booked.

She is not having it.

Pouty lip.

It’s just me.

Pouty lip.

Just one chair.

Pouty lip.

Just me.

Pouty lip.

Can I sit at that empty chair?

Pouty lip.

This goes on.

I tell her we are booked.

She will not take no for an answer.

She wants to know what the wait is.

We don’t run a wait.

Pouty lip.

She finally looks at me, says she’s going to wait and sits down in the lobby.

Fuck.

I finally get her seated around 7:30.

But of course not where she wants.

I tell her she can’t move because the reservation is coming in for The Patriots game.

20 minutes she’s canoodling with Mr Burns from the Simpson’s who was seated beside her.