Hysterical Reservation Note

Highly renowned, fine-dining restaurants with a view will always attract guests who come to celebrate something special.  From birthdays to anniversaries, to promotions and retirements, we see and serve them all. 

On special occasions, guests usually mention other requests in addition to the reason for their celebration:

~  We’d like a romantic table with the best view in the house.

~  I’d like a chilled bottle of Veuve Brut Yellow Label ready at the table when we arrive.

~  We’d like a quiet, private dining area.

These are normal reservation notes. 

However on this particular evening, the reservation note I'd just been handed was far from anything normal:

 Insert giggly laughter. 

My Sherlock Holmes instinct kicked in and a wave of questions and hypothetical scenarios entered my brain:

~ Seriously? 

~ Is this guy for real? 

~ Am I on Impractical Jokers? 

~  Is she really that embarrassed about the hickey or is he the one who is truly embarrassed? 

~  Did a previous server mention something about the hickey and it ruined their night out?   

~  Is the hickey from another man and bringing it up would remind him of her infidelity? 

~  If I mention the hickey, will she immediately slap him?
~  He did say "she gets embarrassed." as in, continuously.  As in ongoing.  As in... he probably gives        her hickeys on a regular basis.  Something is definitely wrong with this guy.  

~  Perhaps they have enemies who practice Voodoo and they've been cursed and are actually teenagers trapped inside of adult bodies (that might actually be the most logical explanation, being that it parallels the level of maturity of this tween-man's comment...).

As I approached their table, all of a sudden I got nervous.  How the hell am I not going to look at her neck!  After all of this, it’s inevitable.  Crap. 

I greeted them with my usual dialog.  But every ounce in my body was thinking about that damn hickey.  I tried so hard not to giggle.  I could barely look at tween-man straight in the face.  Is he thinking what I'm thinking?  Hickey.  Hickey.  Hickey.  Is she thinking it too?  Damn you Law of Attraction! 

I finished my introduction and walked away... barely hanging on. 

Did I just have a conversation with them?  I think I just had an out of body experience.  I don’t remember anything I just said, let alone what they said.  What did they just order to drink? 

I made it back to the side station and took a deep breath.  My co-worker and I looked at each other.  He eagerly smiled and pried, “So, did you look at it?!”  Disappointed and baffled I replied, “I don't think so.   I think she had a scarf on…But... Actually I don’t even know what just happened.  I don't remember a word I just said. ” We died laughing. 

I was focusing so hard on not looking at her hickey, my brain literally couldn't function in it's normal capacity.  

I will never crack this Sherlock Holmes mystery.  But it will forever remain in my brain as one of the most bizarre and hilarious restaurant reservation notes of all time.

I really can't make this stuff up.  ~ HK ~

I encourage my readers and followers to comment on this and tell me your opinion about why you think he “warned” me about the hickey.  

And additionally, I encourage everyone to write funny reservation notes to mess with their servers.  It really does make our shifts much more memorable and highly entertaining.

Mister I-Do-What-I-Want Yacht Douche

This super douche flew in and out of my life as quickly as the freak storm Hurricane Odile brought to San Diego.  Thank god it was over quickly. 

San Diegans had been experiencing record heat and humidity for several days due to Hurricane Odile which pummeled into Cabo San Lucas last week.  One afternoon during this sweaty week, an abrupt and wild storm pounded our city.  Flash floods, wind and lightning slammed through San Diego in a blaze of fury. 

Just as the wind picked up and the sky darkened, two guys ran under an awning and sat in my section to take cover.   One of the guys sat down with two slices of pizza on a paper plate and a beer in a plastic cup.  Really dude?  

I had to regulate. 

I walked over and sternly, yet pleasantly, said, “You can't have that here.  This is a restaurant.  No outside food or beverage is allowed.  I’m sorry.”  He piped up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa.  It looks like it’s going to rain!  We needed shelter. “  Yeah.  To shelter your pizza and beer.   I rebutted.  “You are more than welcome to eat and drink that in a closed section of this restaurant under an umbrella.  But these tables are reserved for customers only.”   His friend chimed in.  “I’ll get a beer.”  Fine... but still not pleased.   I looked at Mister I-do-What-I-Want and said, “Please finish that as quickly as possible because I will get in trouble if my manager sees this.”  Not really true.  However it’s always good to blame the manager when you’re regulating a guest so they don’t get mad at you.  You always want to have a good relationship with the guest.  They do, after all, pay your bills.

I brought the guy his beer.  Of course right when I brought the beer, Mister I-Do-What-I-Want had finished his ghetto beer and pizza and said, “You know I think I'll take a beer too.”  Douche.  A pet peeve of all servers is when a guest orders a drink right when you just brought the other person one.  Unbelievably time wasting.  Like… really you didn’t know two minutes ago you were going to want another one?  Douche. 

I took his plastic beer cup, paper plate and napkins and threw them in the trash.  When I came back with his beer, he informed me that his friend just bought a yacht and they were celebrating.  Really?  Celebrating a yacht purchase with two slices and a beer out of a plastic cup?  Maybe someone should have bought a yacht in the next price tier down. 

I noticed they were both wearing the same yacht company tee shirt.  I asked jokingly, “Did these shirts come with the purchase of the yacht? “ Of course they did.    Then Mister I-Do-What-I-Want said, “Wow.  You’re a lot less mean now.”  Oh hell no.  I replied, “Sir I was never mean.  I was just stern and needed you to understand the rules.”  He then said, “Well it was kind of attractive actually.”  Ewe.  Did he really just flirt with me?  Super douche. 

After several long minutes of yacht banter he asked for the check.  Only two beers: under $15.  He left me three dollars.   You'd think after everything he'd put me through he'd at least hook me up with five bucks.  Again, wrong yacht price tier. 

Douche. 

Guess you have to have a douche at your table every now and again to help you appreciate the cool and law abiding guests even more.  

And for the record, it never rained while the douche was there. ~HK~

    

Never Judge a Canadian for being ... well ... a Candian

It was toward the end of a very average evening shift.  The lovely greeter handed me the chit with notes about the table she just sat me.  It read, “Out-of-Town Hotel Employee.  Staying at Hotel.”  Great.  This means they automatically get 50% off their food, which also generally means the tip is going to be absolute crap. 

I walked over and said hello.  They were Canadian.  Double crap.  The first thought in my head upon learning this?  "Canadians might as well be Europeans as far as their tipping manner.  I'm screwed." Nonetheless, I treaded on forward.  

The couple, the wife slightly older and much more coy than her quirky counterpart, was on vacation from Calgary celebrating his 50^th birthday.  It was their first time in California.

At any rate, I started as I always do and asked about drinks.   He asked me if we had Absinthe.  “Nope.”  Gross.  Then he asked me for something I’d never heard of in my life.  I told him, “Nope,” again.  He then ordered a bottle of wine, which we were out of.  This is not starting off well.  

Surprisingly, the three strikes didn’t seem to bother the gregarious Canadian too much.  He just kept smiling and chose a different bottle of wine instead. 

Finally. Success.   

You could tell he knew his wine and clearly he was into some crazy liquor.  I had a hunch he was on the food and beverage side of the hotel industry.  He then started into a series of questions about our oyster selection.  It was at that very moment my hunch turned into absolute certainty. 

So naturally I wanted to confirm it.  I probed, “You're really into all of this.  You must work in a restaurant.   Culinary or front of the house?“  He replied, “I do what you do.”  I knew it.  Initially I had pictured him as more of a culinary type, not as a server.  But as the night progressed, it was clear he and I shared a passion of food, wine and people.  He loved to talk and make me laugh.  In fact, I could barely pull myself away from the table.  Lucky for me at this point I had no other tables so I was free to give him all of my attention. 

After my recent detective work, I was feeling much better about the hotel employee discount/tipping situation.  Yes he was still very Canadian eh, but he was also a server.  That’s practically a guarantee I’ll get a great tip out of this. 

He began telling me about the restaurant he worked at in Calgary.  He spoke highly of the ambiance, the food, the wine selection and even a guy who worked there he could picture me getting along with.  Then for the first time, the wife spoke up, “He’s a good guy … but he has issues.”  The Canadian piped up, “Well… okay yeah.  He’s a bit of a drinker, eh.”  She giggled then chimed back in, “Honey!  He has a problem!”  I decided to cut them both off before the playful arguing escalated, “Well, he sounds like a lot of fun anyway!”  They both cracked up.  I love making people laugh while I’m serving. 

At one point he was telling me about all of the outdoor activities they’d done so far during their vacation.  He said they were at a bike shop renting bikes earlier that day when the employee asked if they needed helmets.  He got all excited and continued, “When he asked me that I said ‘No thanks. My wife doesn’t need a helmet.  She hasn’t washed her hair in four days!’  The women near us looked at me in horror!  It was hilarious!”  I looked at his wife as he was explaining this and she just rolled her eyes, smiled and shook her head.  They were so cute together.  He, the outgoing Leo (like myself) who loved to crack jokes, and she, the demure one who loved to laugh right along with him.

After his birthday dessert was eaten, I walked back outside to ask if they wanted anything else.  He looked up at me and said, “The dessert was terrific, thanks.  We’re just enjoying the cockroach races at the moment.”  What?  He pointed to the patio.  There were three cockroaches scattering about the area.  Triple yuck.  But it was like it didn’t faze him at all.  The wife, on the other hand, was ready to leave at the start of “the races.”  He finally gave in, “Yah I guess its time for the bill, eh?”  He (thankfully) laughed it off.  I couldn’t believe it.  At the site of one roach, most guests would demand to speak to a manager and then demand something for free.

I don’t know if it was the fact that we were both servers (and both Leos), or just shared the same spirit about life, but the connection was real.  I felt like I was sitting next to them at the neighborhood bar taking the town gossip and sharing life’s lessons with them, not serving them.  It was a beautiful thing.  They were a couple of great people I will never forget. 

And if I am ever in Calgary, you bet your ass I will dine in his restaurant and sit in his section.  And perhaps I’ll even get an introduction to his fun friend.

And in case you're wondering, the Canadian tipped me like a fellow server would tip another; very well.   A great reminder to not judge a book by it's cover, nor anybody by their citizenship.  

You just never know.  ~ HK ~

The Boss Man... Lady

It was one of those extraordinarily perfect evenings as a server.  The weather was beautiful, the greeters were seating me in a perfect flow and my assistant and I were sharing laugh after laugh together.  And the real kicker?  Everyone I waited on was amazingly charismatic and friendly not only with me but also with the other guests at the tables surrounding them.  It was quite bizarre really.  It was the kind of night that can be very rare in our industry; therefore, definitely noteworthy.

I could write about several different tables full of amazing people I had on this one unexpected evening. But there was one table that stood out above all of the rest.

This gem of a table was a two-top consisting of a male and a female who clearly were not a couple.  The male was donning a wedding ring and the female, well… she was wearing a sports jacket and some type of slacks, complete with loafers and a rather short hair-do.  Let’s just say the female was more interested in checking me out.

They were one of the first tables of my night and one of the last ones to leave.  They ordered like it was their last royal meal on Planet Earth:  multiple courses of food, bottles of fine wine and they kept the cocktails flowing.  She kept saying to him, “Order what you want.  The boss is paying.”  Eventually I had to speak up, “I want to work for your boss!  They seem pretty awesome if they will pay for food and drinks.  I don't see that very often.”  The lady in the sports jacket spoke up, “Well that’s because I'm the boss.”  They both laughed.  Oh.  Gotcha.  Apparently you are The Boss.

I could tell The Boss liked me.  Like... really liked me.  Like if she could've had it her way she would have taken me home that night.  To set the record straight (pun very much intended) I am not a lesbian.  But being the fun and outgoing woman I am, I couldn’t help myself but to play along.

And what a playful ride it was.

The Boss couldn’t help herself but to grab my attention every time I walked by.  I know she wished she were actually grabbing something else besides my attention.  She stopped me with questions like, “So what other cocktails are popular?  Where are you from?  What do you do to stay in shape?”   Yes, the questions quickly went from business to personal.  And once it went personal, it really never went back to business (expect for discussions regarding what cocktail to order next or what ideal food course I recommended).  At some point she even asked if my assistant and I had something going on.  Perhaps just for the visual?  It was a fun and somewhat twisted flirtatious ride I will admit.    But the playfulness was innocent.  And whatever makes my day more interesting I’m always game. 

At one point in the evening I had to divert my attention to a different table because there was a fellow hotel employee who was there to celebrate his birthday.   He was a dramatic one who loved to talk and keep me at his table as well.  After a good five minutes at the employee’s table I finally got away.  When I walked by The Boss she joked, “Umm, who is he and why is he getting all of your attention.  We don’t like him.”  They both laughed and she continued, “No seriously.  We don’t ever want you to go back to that table ever again.”      

Wow.  I never knew I could be such a hot commodity as a server.  At that point, I had two tables competing for my attention.  Hash tag best night ever.... or perhaps has tag attention whore is more fitting?

After their dessert was finished, The Boss decided to order after-dinner drinks.  She told me, “I’m not ready to leave this site yet.”  Damn!  As our conversation got more personal, she asked me about my hobbies.  I told her I was a writer and had a blog.  Eventually I gave in and told her the blog was about the service industry and the people I wait on.  She immediately asked for the website and began reading. 

When it was finally time to drop the check, I felt like I'd practically lived through my first date with a lesbian.  She looked at me and said, “Well, I don't want you to write anything bad about me on your blog so I guess I'd better tip you well!”  I laughed and told her I'd never write anything bad about her.  She'd been nothing short of spectacular to wait on.  That being said, she left me a 30% tip on the credit card receipt and, in addition, $100 cash.  Epic.

Perhaps I should tell everyone I wait on I have a blog about the people I wait on.  This could seriously work in my favor.

She gave me a hug goodbye.  I could honestly say I was sad to see her go.  When I walked back into the side station my assistant said she faked grabbing my booty during the hug, then just put her hand on my back like a gentleman… I mean like a lady. 

Its nights like this one that I thoroughly love my job.   Because it’s all about the people we meet as servers.  If every shift could be as terrific and memorable as this one, this would be the best job in the world (and not to mention I’d have a lot more stories to write about). 

So thank you Boss.  Thank you for being you and for providing my readers and myself a great story. 

And now you'll officially be remembered in cyberspace as well.   ~ HK ~