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.

Fun fact.

Plus.

1.

Does not equal two when discussing reservations.

Our bar was booked tonight.

Saturday in August booked.

Fairly tight turns. Everything needing to move.

There was no room for error tonight.

So.

When Beverley walked in for her 1 top reservation at 5:45 saying she was 2 people I panicked.

Uh. Oh.

I explained that she only booked 1.

She says she booked 1. Her friend booked 1. What was the problem?

Anyone want to guess?

Yes. Not a problem. I had both reservations.

It was only a problem if they wanted to sit together.

She seemed perplexed.

I said, Give me a second.

I Looked. And looked.

And realized I could seat them together if they were up in 60 minutes.

I tell her this.

She agrees.

I clarify.

She seems confused.

I explain that I said the same thing a week ago and the two ladies stayed five hours.

She promises.

I seat her.

Her friend arrives ten minutes later.

I tell him what we’ve agreed to.

He agrees. He’s a regular.

He actually left before her.

She left two minutes late.

Whew!

Crisis averted.

Fun fact.

On Thursday’s there is sports balls on tv.

How do I know this?

Because Joe watches said sports balls while cooking. He also talks about said sports balls. And something about fantasizing about quarterbacks and tight ends.

Joe is our executive sous chef. He’s also the guy who got me the job. We used to work together elsewhere.

Also our kitchen is set up so all the chefs have a clear view of three large screen TVs. They always know the score.

So.

Tonight I asked Joe a vague question about the game tonight. I was interested because the bar was crazy booked.

He said yes it was expected to be a good game.

So I took his ambiguous answer to my ambiguous question and ran with it.

I proceeded to tell people all night the bar was booked because everyone was coming in to watch the expected great game tonight being played by The Patriots.

I probably said this 15 times.

This is a long way of saying that if the people didn’t know I was gay…

they do now.

Well. Well. Well.

Guess who walked through the front door tonight.

Remember the bad review I get three or so weeks ago.

Remember the guy who publicly claimed he’d never be back.

Remember how he said I was an asshole.

Yeap.

Rolled in promptly for the 730 reservation at 7:55.

Pretended not to know me. Tried to engage the bartender about the less than friendly host at the door. The host who actually went out of the way to make sure you and your friends were able to sit together. The host who only said hello when you entered.

Yeah.

That guy. Sporting his reddest of red hats. On backwards of course. Guess what was written on the front of the hat?

It clearly told us everything we needed to know about him.

And of course.

Nothing was right.

Somehow, my stellar bar staff who waits on more people than any other persons in the building made not 1, not 2, but 3 mistakes.

I don’t buy it.

They also stayed forever when we should have been on our way home at 9:30.

We’ll see if he writes another review.

PS. He didn’t touch me tonight. But he did rub his hand down the shoulder of the server who sat him. She was not amused.

My posts have become very popular with the team at work. They get very excited when they make the evening news. They also like to share the wealth. Twice tonight someone came up to tell me the insanity that was their table.

And by the end of the night I had a yellow pad sheet full of notes.

I just needed to choose tonight’s topic.

When what to my wondering eye should appear?

I should say…who?

Remember everyone’s favorite post from last week about the two girls and the gent who stayed for five hours after promising to leave?

Yes.

Not the girls.

But the gent. We’ll call him Stan.

He arrived for his 6:15 reservation with his brothers. He didn’t have on his hat but it was definitely him.

I didn’t know till later but for both of his last visits he was difficult.

He starts off the same.

They didn’t like the stools they were assigned to. After last week there is no way they’re getting moved. Stool 1,2,3 by the men’s room.

Perfect.

In the following hour he goes out twice to smoke. Only it wasn’t cigarettes. He came back in with a more skunky smell.

He also refuses to order. It’s now 7:30. We’ve sat all but two tables and he tells the bartender he’s going to wait another hour since we don’t close till 8:30.

David, the bartender lets me know this. I tell him to let them know they have till 7:45. Then it will be too late.

It was soon after that the last table comes in. Two attractive men, two outrageously stunning women. I’m waiting for their table to be bussed so I can seat them.

When guess who should appear? Stan.

He see’s the girls.

And if I directed what happened next in a play you’d say this is ridiculous.

He appears in the doorway.

Sees the girls.

He locks his gaze on the taller of the two girls. He never looks away. He takes about 90 seconds longer than he needs to, never looking away even as he exits to smoke again.

About three minutes later he returns.

The whole thing is repeated. Creepily so.

He goes back in.

The table waiting is seated.

About 30 minutes later I notice that Stan isn’t at the bar and I see him coming from the dining room.

Hmmm.

Mental note to watch him.

A few minutes later. He’s gone again.

A few minutes later he appears from the dining room again.

Hmmm.

A server comes looking for me to give me his checkout.

He lets me know that Stan is hanging out at the wait stand.

Talking to the female staff.

I head over to the wait stand and find out he’s talking to them but seems innocent enough.

In my opinion, 45 year old men don’t hang out at wait stands if they are innocent enough.

That changes in about 30 minutes.

He singles out one server and is having a hard time getting her subtle hints to leave her alone.

By now it’s approaching 9:00. Stan is still here. We are waiting on a table to leave.

The server comes over to give me her checkout and I invite her to sit down with me. There are now four of us at the table.

As soon as the server sits down, guess who is at the table.

Stan.

He is having trouble talking.

She asks if she can help him.

He asks if he can get a ____. He couldn’t finish and begins to mime a box with his hands.

The server looks at him and dryly says, do you need a to to go box?

We all snicker.

He finally gets out that he wants a slip of paper. I fetch him one.

It’s clear he wants her number but is being blocked by six staff members.

He’s not happy that he’s talking to me and not the server.

He’s really unhappy when she, without a word excuses herself.

Now it’s me and two servers and two bartenders looking at him like what do you want now?

He stutters.

He fumbles.

He’s lost.

Finally he walks away.

The whole thing was creepy.

He leaves.

Finally.

One of our servers leaves immediately and phones to let us know he’s still in the parking lot.

I go out but don’t see him. Only employee cars out there.

We all finish up.

I make the remaining staff exit together.

So here’s the thing.

Stan’s first visit. Normal.

Second visit he stayed for five hours and tried to pick up a woman at the bar.

Tonight he’s creepy. Rapey.

BUT.

He never really crossed the line.

It’s like when you know an employee is stealing.

You can’t fire them until you catch them.

I feel like I can’t ban him until he crosses a line. But it also scares me that he’ll get handsy or cross a big line.

That being said.

I know who he is. I know his first and last name. I know to watch him. I know to alert the staff to his behavior.

Hopefully things will never come to a more serious situation.

Hopefully.

No one.

I mean no one.

No one is impressed when a server doesn’t write down the order.

There.

I said it.

Tonight I joined four of my all time favorite co-workers to toast one of them who is moving to South Carolina.

These women made my life tolerable during my first bout of New England resort employment.

Rachel and Brenda were my marketing geniuses who kept me in line when it came to all things marketing. I was the best Facebook admin when I worked there. Booking my posts weeks in advance.

Sonja booked and organized all of our 50k buyout weddings and made them a success even when we pushed back.

And when I screwed up the checkbook or used my company credit card to pay for my dry cleaning because my card and the company card were both blue I called Alyssa Swenson.

These fabulous people kept me sane.

And unfortunately, Sonja has decided to take a job in the south.

Tonight I coached her in how to tell someone to fuck off by perfecting her very sweet Bless Your Heart.

Long set up.

So we arrive at the restaurant and are greeted by a very competent, very nice server.

And she takes our drink order.

And doesn’t write it down.

And she brings back everything correctly.

And she takes our food order. And with how confused she seemed we had no idea what we’d get.

But it was all correct.

Then another drink order.

Again correct.

But it caused me sooooo much anxiety because servers aren’t always that good at it.

As a GM I have a steadfast rule that you MUST write down your orders. Or at least pretend to.

When I served I wrote everything. If it wasn’t on my pad you weren’t getting it.

I still function that way.

If you need a day off or a reservation you better make sure it’s written down because I’m not going to remember it.

We all discussed our servers lack of a pen tonight and the stress it caused. We all agreed she was doing great. We didn’t test her though by asking for separate checks.

So remember.

No one is impressed.

Write the order down.

And Sonja we’ll all miss you.

We’ve talked about reservations before.

This is a refresher course.

About three weeks ago I had a message on the machine requesting a large party reservation.

I called them back.

Turns out they were a local car dealership looking for a place to host an employee gathering.

Great. I’d be glad to help.

They’ll be 14 people.

We have a steadfast policy that the most people we can do in one seating is 12 people.

Every restaurant has their maximum.

For us it’s 12. For several reasons.

We’ve established that any more than 12 slows down the kitchen way too much.

When your average restaurant plans a menu they make sure their items are spread between multiple cooking stations.

Ovens get 6 items. Sauté gets 6 items. Salads get 6 items. Fry 6 items. No one person cooks it all.

When you are a steakhouse. The grill has 16,452 items. Salad has 3.

There truly is a limit to how many steaks we can cook at one time.

And for us. With the rest of the restaurant cranking, 12 is our max table.

The other reason we restrict seating, is that our semi private dining rooms max out at 12. So we can only put 12 people at one table. If I seat 14 we are seating two 7 tops and it’s better for revenue to seat two 12’s not two
7’s.

Long way of saying I told him we couldn’t accommodate him.

He asked what the most we could do was.

I said 12.

He decided to make the reservation for 12 and said he’d figure it out.

And how did he figure it out?

Last night when the party arrived we didn’t count them. There were just a lot of people in our lobby

So we get their table ready. I send them off.

And 30 seconds later the food runner who sat them is back to inform me that they don’t have enough chairs.

Because how many people showed up?

14.

I’m annoyed.

I follow her back to the table.

Where I explain that the table can only comfortably seat 12. No they can’t spread to the table next to them.

The food runner gets two chairs.

I leave.

They end up squishing.

13 of them were annoyed. The only person who was remotely nice about it was the guy who made the reservation.

He also paid the check which was good for the server.

But seriously. Who does that?