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Tonight around 7:30 a woman comes in.

She doesn’t have a reservation.

But.

She is a regular.

I happen to be at the host stand when she comes in.

We get her seats after giving a hard time about not calling for a reservation.

Her husband joins her.

Fun fact.

I love this couple. For a million reasons, most of which is because I have a huge crush on her husband.

He’s so handsome. Think 60 year old Anderson Cooper.

She’s equally attractive.

Both older than me.

But who cares.

But.

Tonight we are chatting and I mention my partner.

I’m about to continue and HE stops me.

He asks me my partner’s name.

I say Adam.

And he’s says: so now we know his name. Stop referring to him as “my partner” and start referring to him as Adam.

And I fell in love with both of them even more!

Introducing.

My partner:

Adam.

In case some of you hadn’t noticed, I haven’t posted much this week.

Well.

Here’s the backstory.

Last Sunday, a friend, a regular came into the restaurant.

And as she approached the host stand she shared with me that someone had shared my blog with a person, that it turns out felt that a post was about her.

It was not.

But she felt attacked.

And for the life of me I can’t imagine why she felt it was about her.

The post was from 8 weeks ago.

It was random.

It didn’t mention a name. A restaurant. A server. Anything to identify the person.

Except the behavior.

And the behavior was outside of our norm.

And.

So I took a few days to look at the posts. The intent. The information.

And the truth is, I’m vague on purpose. I don’t want to offend anyone. I just share my experiences.

So.

If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumbered here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
If you pardon, we will mend:
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to ‘scape the serpent’s tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.

I’m a big guy.

Very big.

Ohhh, that it were all muscle, but alas that ship has sailed.

I’ve struggled with my weight since puberty. I was a skinny little thing till around 7th grade. I remember my first pair of husky pants from K-mart. It was not a fun day.

Since then it’s been a battle. Up. Down. Up. Down.

When I hit 35 I lost the weight, started running, and was for the first time ever below 190. I hovered around 185 for almost five years.

In fact, unbeknownst to me, a new group of friends I made after 9/11 referred to me as hot Jeff. There were four of us Jeff’s in our group. Suit and tie Jeff and I still friends. But yes, until I moved to California to go to grad school that was how they referred to me.

Alas.

Three months before I moved my dad died.

Two months before I moved I broke my foot. My running days were over.

Then.

I started grad school.

Them to make matters worse over Xmas break my appendix burst. 8 days in the hospital. Two months before normalcy returned.

When I looked up I’d gained all the weight back. Plus some.

Hot Jeff was fat.

I’ll stop for a second and say I’m not looking for sympathy or compliments. Just observing something I’ve discovered lately.

As a big guy, I’m aware of the space I take up.

I’m extremely uncomfortable at the theater because I withdraw into the smallest being I can be so as not to make my neighbors miserable. Adam buys aisle seats when he can.

I’m alway at the window on an airplane because I can once again curl into a ball and hug the wall.

At the grocery store, at the mall, at a bookstore I’m very aware of my space in the aisle so I say excuse me a lot.

Actually. I say sorry.

I apologize for taking up space.

And I realized about a week ago I spend a lot of time at work apologizing for taking up space.

Sorry for being in your way.

At the wait station.

At the host stand.

Behind the bar.

Making coffee.

I say sorry about ten thousand times a night.

Thing is, I’m not the only person who takes up space at work. And I’m not referring to weight.

Everyone has a job to do. Everyone has a reason for being where they are.

So why, do I feel like I’m not allowed to take up space. It’s a psychological response to being big.

So I’m saying all of this out loud to own the fact that I’m allowed to take up space. I’m allowed to be where I am. I’m allowed to own my presence.

I’m allowed to stop apologizing for being a big guy.

That is all.

My all time new favorite thing is when people call to make a reservation and then tell me what’s available.

Hi. I’d like to make a reservation for Wednesday night. You have a 7:15 available according to Resy.

So if you know what’s available, why didn’t you just make it online. It would have saved us all time.

Or.

Hi. I’d like to make a reservation for Wednesday. For 8 people. Perhaps you could put us in one of the private rooms.

Yes I could.

And I will.

Because it’s the only place 8 people will fit. If you want to sit together.

I do appreciate that people want to come eat with us. It’s just funny being on the phone with people sometimes.

PS. On the opposite side of things. I love when people tell me what bar stool they prefer.

One side looks at the kitchen.

The other TV’s.

It’s so much easier to organize before the night starts. Instead of in the middle of a busy shift.

Kristen likes seats 9 and 10.

The Smith’s like 13 and 14.

The Jones’s don’t care as long as the face the kitchen.

Perhaps there is no making me happy.

We were quiet tonight.

Never slow. I’ve always believed that the word slow breeds complacency. Always quiet.

We were quiet.

Two restaurants in town reopened for the season.

It was chilly today, but the sun certainly indicated spring is on the way.

And many people were invested in the final four.

So because of the quiet, I took a few minutes before the second turn to look through next week’s reservations.

Two stood out.

The first a man who’d made a reservation for his wife’s birthday.

No big deal.

Except he insisted we call him to discuss what we do for special events.

I’m not sure what he’s expecting. We offer dessert. And a candle.

A birthday is not a special event. Especially for two people.

The second request was more interesting.

Woman left the following note:

Carnivore way of eating. Animal products only. No sugar, no sauces, no plants. Limited spices “ok” but just salt is perfect. Thank you. I am hoping to be able to order ala carte, animal products only. Let’s be honest, I am coming for the BEEF! We are looking forward to it!

Hmmmm.

I love meat!

A lot.

But I can’t imagine how unhealthy a completely meat centric diet would be.

My gout would explode.

My cholesterol would sore.

Can’t imagine how my stomach would react.

Tune in on Wednesday when I report back in.

Meanwhile.

I’m glad tomorrow is my Friday.

Ready for some R & R.

Every night I try to make it to the lobby to say goodbye to our guests and ask them how their dinner was.

First table tonight, sought me out. They wanted me to know it was the best filet they’d ever eaten.

I assured them I’d let the chef know.

We continued chatting and I shared that chef always recommend medium rare but even his mom gets well done.

She exclaims! Me too. That’s how I got mine tonight. I only eat it well done.

I laughed and told her I’d share that with him as well

They were so gracious and kind and appreciative of us.

It always makes me happy.

The second table of note I asked how they enjoyed their dinner. They said, do you even have to ask?

Lots of people respond this way.

And I say, I appreciate their sentiment but I still have to ask.

They then ask if anyone ever says they didn’t enjoy their meal.

I explain that yes, once in a while someone doesn’t enjoy their dinner.

He replies. That’s because they don’t know what fucking good food is supposed to taste like. They have a McDonald’s palette and don’t know any better.

We finish our conversation and they leave.

One of my hosts looks at me and says you should write that down so you can share about it tonight.

And I did.

And now I have.

5:00/5:15/5:30 reservations will always show up early.

Always.

However!

The last reservations of the night will always come at best on time.

But.

Usually they come late.

Tonight’s last reservation was for 7:45. They arrived a few minutes before 8:00.

Additional fun fact.

It’s NEVER the last table that sits for an hour after close.

It’s the one who sits well before close.

This was true also tonight.

This is your quarterly reminder that the man who yelled at me and then told anyone who would listen, including the chef, our survey system and two social media sites that he was never coming back was in yet again.

He pretended not to know me.

I pretended that he wasn’t an ass

He ate, then snuck out the back so he wouldn’t have to ignore mow on his way out.

I’ll see him again in June.

The phone rings on Sunday night.

It’s a man asking to make a reservation in July.

I explain that we only book out 60 days and that he would be able to book online in May.

But.

But.

But.

But I’m in Shawnee, Kansas and I’m coming to Maine just to eat at your restaurant.

I thank him for the compliment, and explain that I can’t over ride the system. He’ll have to wait till May.

But.

But.

But.

I assure him if he calls back in May he’ll have no problem getting a reservation.

He asks if I’m sure.

I assure him he’ll be fine.

He thanks me and hangs up.

I wish we filled up that fast.