Tuesday, August 2, 2011

"But we're regulars"

It's pretty easy to develop 'regulars' in the restaurant biz. The people that come in every weekend, the ones that tip the best, the ones that are friends with the managers, I get it. But the one thing these regulars don't understand is that.....their name isn't on the building, you don't own this shit.

Sunday mornings -- The best time of the week for the regulars to take advantage of their reign, in more ways than one.

My personal favorite : Walking in, saying hello to everyone, then dropping the bomb on us with... "there's twelve of us". Oh yeah? Well fuck you. I immediately tell my managers that they are going to have to wait. Oh but no, they "spend a lot of money here", and they're "regulars and good customers". I don't give a flying fuck. They're waiting, even if theres tables available now.
Then... at 11:00am, one of them comes up to the host stand and asks "can I see a lunch menu, I'm planning a party next week I want to see what's on the menu?" of course it's no problem to grab a lunch menu, but it will be a problem if you try and order off of it when we do not serve lunch yet.
Oh....but they are regulars who are now owners of the restaurant and determine when certain meals are served.

By all means, go ahead! 

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Reservation under.... uhh "Smith"?

I'm just going to make one thing clear, the computer system that I look at when you enter the restaurant is A LOT smarter than you are.... and most of the time, so am I.

Reservations are really simple, possibly the simplest part of your dining experience. You call, tell me how many, give me your name, and you're done, you are now guaranteed a table... However, if you forget to make a reservation for your anniversary date with your wife, your lunch with your mom, or whatever, it is NOT mine or my computer's fault. Guess what, it's yours :)

I can't tell you how many times people walk into either restaurant, look around and mutter to each other how busy it is, then nonchalantly walk up to me and claim they have a reservation under some random name like "Smith" or something... Uhm, no sir, you don't.
"But I made one through OpenTable? I don't see why you don't have it?" Then both parties just stare blankly at me to see what I'll say.
"No asshole, you didn't. I'm not stupid. I'll even go out of my way to look up your name in our guest history to prove to you that you are nowhere to be found...you don't exist to us." I wish...instead....
"Hmm, there must have been some sort of mistake, we'll get you the next available table." Because, you know, my job requires me to unfortunately be polite to people....

Then those suckers get the next table. And they walk away to high five that they've got the in and "tricked" me. But you didn't. I just get paid to be fucking nice to you.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

"how about over there?"

It must be a common misunderstanding to hostess' that you do not get the same service at particular tables. The table that I suggest to you is obviously not going to be as good as the one that you point out, when in all actuality, it really is, because I know exactly what you are going to complain about over there, and over there, and also over there.

There is brains behind our operations, trust me, it's not my first rodeo, I'm not just going to throw you at a shitty table on purpose, but trust me, that ones shittier. Oh, and I know just by how you say hi to me when you walk in the door whether or not you're going to complain about the table or not.

"Table for 4 please" and then the slight hand gesture to the specific table you want, or the direction you'd like to go, well guess what, we're going the other fuckin' way.

"Booth, if you have it" well, our half-booth/half-tables are the exact same thing as a fricken booth if you want to get technical, sit both of your asses on one side, but hell no, never good enough. We'll cram into this 2 person booth instead with our 4 person party.

"Something quiet" are you aware that you are in a public restaurant....? Hm, okay. Take your meal to-go and eat in your car.

And the best, "How about over there..." yeah, how about over there, FOR THE NEXT TABLE, because THIS server is next, asshole, so stay here. The food will taste the same, I promise. And there's a vent over there so I know you won't like it, but let's go....

"this may be too cold" exactly, could have told you that myself bitch, now you're going to point at that table over there, but when you sit down you'll realize you can see all of our cooks in the kitchen...pleasent

"Umm, maybe not"...that's where I drop the fucking menu's. This is where I sat you, whether it's where you stay or not, I've done my job, it wasn't good enough for your liking so sit your annoying ass somewhere else, preferably not in this restaurant. Then after I get a different server to pick your table up and bring you the menu's you left at the initial table I sat you at, things will be fine and dandy and your food will arrive and you'll enjoy your evening just like everyone else around you that sat where I took them. So I'm glad you've had a good night, because after making me chase you around for 10 minutes trying to satisfy your asses in a comfy booth or warm corner, I'm officially annoyed for the rest of my shift.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Table for five....go somewhere else.

I've learned a very important lesson when running the floor at the Irish pub:
Don't have more than two kids when you grow up.

Okay, the number five is just fucking stupid. I hate it. Six sucks too. Our tables are made for four people, which usually ends up being two adults and two kids on a normal friday or saturday night. When you walk in with two adults and three kids (or even four, God bless it), it automatically creates havoc. Someone is going to be crammed onto the end, face it.

Oh, and hell no I'm not pushing two tables together for your five person family, sorry, should have thought twice about having that third child, don't even BOTHER asking because I'll straight up tell you "no" and walk away.

Six, ah fuck it, even worse. TWO of your annoying kids will be crammed onto the ends. Which means the macaroni that is dropped to the floor will now surround the entire vicinity of the table, not just one side. 

And again, hell no, I'm not pushing tables together for even your six person family. You will squish. (Height chairs are an exception, the new born is pretty innocent in this situation)

But if I walk away, you can proceed to pull the table next to you over for there to be two empty chairs on one side because I must have forgotten that you own the place. The one thing about 5 and 6 tops that is very important is, drop the menu's as quick as you can and walk away fast. That way, no one can ask to relocate, because sorry, all the tables are the same. You're going to look crammed no matter where you sit...And don't complain about being too close together because you two were the ones who wanted more than two kids and didn't think about the way you'd be situated at a table in a restaurant first.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Apparently I'm invisible.

The organic restaurant has quite a big crowd of custies for Sunday morning breakfast, which I'm usually okay with when I'm not hung over from the night before. There are a lot of interesting people that go out to eat on Sunday mornings. We get our regulars, first-time diners, kids, business men, more kids, old people, old people with grandkids, and everything in between.

Right at 10:15am, the same man stops in before church. He usually meets his wife and daughter. The man smiles at us through the glass doorway, says a nice hello when passing the host stand.......and just keeps on walking. The other hostess and I always turn to each other and shake our heads. Who the fuck does that? He keeps walking and chooses which ever table he feels is suitable for today. He always, of course, sits in a section of a server who isn't here yet, and sometimes one that isn't even cleaned off yet (Yes. It's that important that he has THAT specific table to where he'd sit at a dirty one). Causing us, the hosts, to grab an S.A (server assistant, similar to a busboy) to clear the table, find a server to pick up the table, and bring menu's to his table. Oh, and the fucking newspaper, because his lazy ass will always ask for the newspaper.

The two ladies come in a little later and always say "Oh, we're meeting someone who already has a table." Oh really? He has a table? That's funny because we never sat anyone that's waiting on anyone else. But go ahead and join the man that apparently owns the place now and is waving down the busboy because he forgot a spot.

I don't even care that much that he blows us off, it keeps me from greeting another asshole and having him tell me that the table I chose isn't good enough. I'd rather him blow me off because it's nice to be a bitch and walk over and say "Uhh, did you need menu's? Okay let me find a server to get you some drinks...." All awkward like. But one of these days, when I go to take him his fucking menu's and newspaper and rub his feet while I'm at it, I want to ask "Why the fuck do you do that? You can do it every day for the rest of your life, I don't give a shit, but just tell me what goes through your head when you see me seat EVERY other table around you and you sit there knowing that you blew me off?" I just want an explanation, you know? So that he, himself, can listen to how much of a prick he looks walking into the restaurant. I'm going to do it, one of these days, and you all will be the first to know about it.