Scenes from last night:
11442.
Eleven thousand four hundred forty two.
That’s a fuckofalot of people to wait on in a calendar year.
Two positive Yelp/Trip Advisor reviews that mentioned me specifically.
One bad one (offline, so I’m being completely honest here).
Overall, I would say it was a pretty great year.
Scenes from last night:
Friday 1/31
Booth 1 stopped me because they needed a box to take home the lettuce garnish from their appetizer.
Booth 6 was confused about about whether the Dolphin on the menu was actually Flipper. I said I really hope not. Then I realized that they were Canadian when they ordered Paaaahhhsta, so I cut them some slack.
Booth 4 wanted a copy of the receipt. When I tried to explain to her that, since we use a cash register, and not a computer, that it would take me about five minutes to be able to run next door, turn the copier on, copy it, and come back. She seemed put out at this timeline, like she was in a hurry, so I asked her if it would not just be easier for her to just take a picture of the receipt.
She did. And then they sat in the booth for another 30 minutes.
Booth 5 wanted to sit and chat for about twenty minutes after they come over from our waiting bar, but then, when I was actually in the middle of doing something, they stopped me, like I’d been ignoring them for ages.
After they ordered their appetizers, I asked if they’d like to wait to order their dinners, and the man said, “No,” rather sharply, and then he tried to dial it back by saying, “I mean that respectfully.”
I laughed it off. But this is me we’re talking about. I can’t leave a ball teed up like that and not take a swing. It’s all about waiting for the right situation.
A few minutes later, his wife is asking me about about the different fish we offer and the best ways to cook each one.
She asked me, “Can I fry the Hog Snapper and then have you pour some of the spicy T-WA over it?”
Me: “No. And I mean that respectfully, of course.”
“You’re good!” the man laughed.
Booth 2 this young man and his dad were trying to figure out what to order for dinner. The son, in his mid thirties, was very adventurous in his eating, and his dad, was a steak well-done kind of guy. He complained about everything he ate, but ate every single bit of food on every dish that was served.
Booth 3 (Third seating) When the table went to order dessert, it took about five minutes alone, just to figure out the:
“I want my whipped cream on the side”
“I want my chocolate sauce on the side”
“No, I want whipped cream!”
“Well, I don’t!”
I literally just walked away and brought all the desserts naked with the sauces on the side.
I have to protect my own mental health, you know? I mean, who doesn’t like whipped cream? I can’t surround myself with that kind of crazy longer than necessary.
Booth 4 (First seating) After bringing this nice couple theirs drinks, and circling back a few minutes later, I walked up to the booth and said, “So what are we thinking?”
The nice seventy-ish man said, “I’m thinking I want to take this lady home to bed, but she says I have to feed her first, so…”
Me: Well, that’s not on the menu, so, yeah, any questions?
And so on.
And so on.
And so on.
Scenes from last night:
At the end of the night last night, I had set up doing my paperwork at the far end of what we call the short bar. It’s my least favorite spot because it’s far away from the cash register and credit card machine, but it was the only place open when I was trying to put everything in order.
As soon as the back bar opened up, my plan was to move all of the paperwork back over to the other side.
About twenty minutes later, when the bar was empty, I wiped it down, walked back to the short bar, grabbed everything and was walking back, when I literally heard a very sweet, young, twenty-something girl say to one of the three young twenty-something men at the table:
“I want 10 inches by ten am.”
And it was one of those moments that we all dread. The one where you say something really loudly or inappropriate right when the music stops.
I stopped dead in my tracks, looked at my co-worker, and we both started laughing.
My co-worker starts going, “whoa, whoa, whoa, what’s going on over here?”
At the same time, I say, “What type of conversation am I walking in on over here?”
The young girl takes a moment to realize that whatever they were talking about has been completely misunderstood and turns fifteen shades of red.
Me: You want 10 inches by 10 am??? Goals!
My coworker: So do I!
The three young men at the table were now looking equally mortified when one of them goes, “One that note…”, as he popped up in an effort to quickly leave the restaurant.
To which I responded, “Come back soon!”
PS – George Strait might need to re-write his song lyrics
PPS – I just Googled George Strait, and guess what, his official height is 5 feet 10 inches…
PPPS – I never did find out what she was actually talking about.
monkeydish 