Most every day, I work with Tracey H. She's young, about 23 I think, and hella good-looking. She's a very pleasant person to work with. She's real good with her tables and everybody likes her. Well, almost everybody.
Tracey had station three on Tuesday. Nobody's guaranteed the same station every day but it usually works out that way. And as usual, I was working Curveside™ to-go. Inside the restaurant was pretty busy but my to-go wasn't very happening. One of our door whores called in sick so I spent a good chunk of my shift helping the one who'd actually shown up. I bused a few tables but mostly just escorted hungry clients to wherever the real hostess told me to.
One deuce was a middle-aged couple I brought to table 15 in Tracey's station. They seemed nice from what I could tell by our brief interaction. The only reason I remember them at all is because the nicely dressed woman had some 1980's Duran Duran-looking hair that kind of made an impression. The guy could've been Willard Romney or Lawyer Malloy for all I can recollect about him.
The next day, Wednesday, the same couple, at least it sure looked like them, came and got seated at the same table—again, in Tracey's section—they'd had 24 hours earlier. I ran their food out to them. I remember this because Tracey later reminded me of it and because of that Spandau Ballet hairstyle. I didn't mention their previous visit. If I had, I would've heard about it later so I know this much is true.
The duo sat at table 15 on Tuesday, when I seated them, and again on Wednesday, when I delivered their chow. Tracey waited on them both times. On Thursday, I answered the phone. Nothing unusual about that, I do it all the time. The caller was a woman who asked to speak to a manager. I told her I'd hunt her one down and asked who was calling. In a nice, even tone of voice, in which I detected neither rancor or irritation, she said, "This is Mrs. Philastus Hurlbut and I have a complaint." I wracked my brain for a second as to whether I'd recently fucked up a to-go order for anybody with a name like Philastus Hurlbut and couldn't recall such. Then I went and fetched key-hourly manager Veranda B.
Veranda took the call on "my" phone, the one I take most of the Curveside orders on. I went about my bidniss, walking past Veranda and her discussion a couple of times. I overheard little snippets of the conversation, Veranda saying things like, "um-hmm," and "yes ma'am." After four or five minutes, the call came to an end.
According to Mrs. Hurlbut, she'd come in on Wednesday with her husband. They'd been enthusiatically greeted and welcomed back by Tracey, who remembered them from the day before. However, on the previous day, the man who'd lunched with Mrs. Hurlbut wasn't her husband but her boyfriend. Apparently, this caused Wednesday's lunch to be a less-than-pleasant experience and later, a bit of dischord at home. Tracey says the two guys sure looked alike to her, mostly just recalling Mrs. Hurlbut's 'do, but upon reflection, she allows as to how the husband was perhaps a little heavier, darker complected, older and maybe a little less attractive than the boyfriend. I remember Mrs. Hurlbut and her Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark hairstyle had a dude with her both days but can't recall anything about him.
Our company's always harping about how we need more regulars and remembering clients who've visited before and greeting them warmly is strongly encouraged. Tracey did nothing wrong and isn't in any trouble or anything. Mrs. Hurlbut contended that it wasn't any of Tracey's business who'd been in the restaurant the previous day nor her place to say anything about it. What the fuck ever. Tracey says she got a good tip from them on Tuesday and nothing on Wednesday.
Tracey had station three on Tuesday. Nobody's guaranteed the same station every day but it usually works out that way. And as usual, I was working Curveside™ to-go. Inside the restaurant was pretty busy but my to-go wasn't very happening. One of our door whores called in sick so I spent a good chunk of my shift helping the one who'd actually shown up. I bused a few tables but mostly just escorted hungry clients to wherever the real hostess told me to.
One deuce was a middle-aged couple I brought to table 15 in Tracey's station. They seemed nice from what I could tell by our brief interaction. The only reason I remember them at all is because the nicely dressed woman had some 1980's Duran Duran-looking hair that kind of made an impression. The guy could've been Willard Romney or Lawyer Malloy for all I can recollect about him.
The next day, Wednesday, the same couple, at least it sure looked like them, came and got seated at the same table—again, in Tracey's section—they'd had 24 hours earlier. I ran their food out to them. I remember this because Tracey later reminded me of it and because of that Spandau Ballet hairstyle. I didn't mention their previous visit. If I had, I would've heard about it later so I know this much is true.
The duo sat at table 15 on Tuesday, when I seated them, and again on Wednesday, when I delivered their chow. Tracey waited on them both times. On Thursday, I answered the phone. Nothing unusual about that, I do it all the time. The caller was a woman who asked to speak to a manager. I told her I'd hunt her one down and asked who was calling. In a nice, even tone of voice, in which I detected neither rancor or irritation, she said, "This is Mrs. Philastus Hurlbut and I have a complaint." I wracked my brain for a second as to whether I'd recently fucked up a to-go order for anybody with a name like Philastus Hurlbut and couldn't recall such. Then I went and fetched key-hourly manager Veranda B.
Veranda took the call on "my" phone, the one I take most of the Curveside orders on. I went about my bidniss, walking past Veranda and her discussion a couple of times. I overheard little snippets of the conversation, Veranda saying things like, "um-hmm," and "yes ma'am." After four or five minutes, the call came to an end.
According to Mrs. Hurlbut, she'd come in on Wednesday with her husband. They'd been enthusiatically greeted and welcomed back by Tracey, who remembered them from the day before. However, on the previous day, the man who'd lunched with Mrs. Hurlbut wasn't her husband but her boyfriend. Apparently, this caused Wednesday's lunch to be a less-than-pleasant experience and later, a bit of dischord at home. Tracey says the two guys sure looked alike to her, mostly just recalling Mrs. Hurlbut's 'do, but upon reflection, she allows as to how the husband was perhaps a little heavier, darker complected, older and maybe a little less attractive than the boyfriend. I remember Mrs. Hurlbut and her Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark hairstyle had a dude with her both days but can't recall anything about him.
Our company's always harping about how we need more regulars and remembering clients who've visited before and greeting them warmly is strongly encouraged. Tracey did nothing wrong and isn't in any trouble or anything. Mrs. Hurlbut contended that it wasn't any of Tracey's business who'd been in the restaurant the previous day nor her place to say anything about it. What the fuck ever. Tracey says she got a good tip from them on Tuesday and nothing on Wednesday.
Hahahahahaaa...Nice.
ReplyDeleteI can't believe anyone would try to get away with taking their boyfriend and husband to the same spot. And that she had no shame in calling to complain about the result. I'm sure your manager had a good laugh.
Hey, thx 4 reading andcommenting. I know right? On some level, she's got 2 know how wrong she is. TFP looks great, good luck with it!
DeleteHey thanks for the blogroll add for Fizzy. Helps me get motivated to get some more material going for it!
Deleteyw & gl!
DeleteWhen you work at the country club, this is something that they tell you from day one - you NEVER refer to a previous visit specifically unless you absolutely know who they were with on the previous visit. You are free to say, "It's nice to see you again" but that's the extent of it. In the country club, you never do it because these people do a lot of business deals with various people and they also entertain various people who might not like it if they were turned down for a visit one day or find out that you were with Mr. So and So (plus, there's the same situation as mentioned in the post that goes on as well). I never would have thought of that on my own, but I saw what they were talking about after a while.
ReplyDeleteI carry that with me to this day. I'm usually very vague in recognizing regulars that I don't know well. I now work in a very "clubby" sort of restaurant where a lot of important business gets done so I see a lot of the same faces over and over, especially at lunch. Most of them I know well enough to call by their first names and I usualy don't have a problem referring to earlier visits, but I usually still don't do it just out of habit. And I usually don't get really familiar with them until the third or fourth visit. A "Nice to see you" is about as far as I get.
PS, never, EVER call someone Mrs. So and So unless you ABSOLUTELY know that she's married to her dinner guest, even if it seems that they're married. You might be unpleasantly surprised. This goes for regulars that you assume are married as well. Even older people are sometimes avoiding getting married these days. Don't ask me how I know.
Thanks for reading and commenting! That comment could of been a guest post! It's been 5 years since I haven't worked in an upscale fine-dining kind of place and you're absolutely right; that sort of discretion you described IS a major rule in that mileau, I'd forgotten! Anyhow, thanks again and I invite you to come back often.
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