Sunday, April 27, 2003

Sometimes, working in a restaurant is like a marathon, emotionally. I go from peaks to valleys, sometimes within a half-hour, and moreover, I can't wait for the night to end. To have my barley and hops sports drink. Tonight was a rough night. I had two call parties at the same time, only Russ thought his reservation was 7:45pm, not 6:45pm, so one table sat dormant until 7:15. The other, a six top at 7pm, never showed up, so those tables were sat for the first time at approximately 7:30 and 7:45. And the entrees for my other call party took a half hour, pushing them past an already tight turn for an 8:30pm 8 top. So I piddled my way through the late hours, ringing $290 on four late night tables, after hitting $250 with Charlie and Jackie, and missing what would have been a comparable ring with Russ and Toni, and conservatively another $500 on my two larger tops, with at least two late night seatings for another $200. It wouldn't have been a stupendous night, but at least over $1,000, with less work, and less amateur diners. One had the gall, after ordering a ribeye medium well, his wife as well, to leave a note on his check recommending that we not tell the specials to people who already know what they want. That is, actually, my job. I felt like trying to catch up with him at 33, the wine bar they asked about, to buy him a drink with his pittance of a tip, and give him some coupons for Ponderosa, the next time they have a hankering for a steak. 1:01:26 AM