Last weekend my husband and I traveled to Highlands, North Carolina, to get some fall weather in and eat/drink/lazy our way through the weekend. We decided to hit up one of the best and most popular restaurants in town, a small Italian place called Paoletti’s. We couldn’t get a reservation before eight, so I bit the bullet and decided to push my dinnertime and bedtime back in order to eat there. I’m usually so hungry by seven that I’m borderline delirious, so waiting until eight had me above baseline anxiety all day long.
“You should eat a snack?” My husband says to me around 6… kind of smiling and backing away a little bit. It’s part suggestion, part question. And more like “You are bordering on irrational and homicidal right now, please have a snack.” A request, if you will. “I’M SAVING MYSELF FOR PAOLETTIS!” I say to him. He knows the next step is HANGER (hunger+anger = HANGER).
We finally arrive to the restaurant at eight, and the hostess is running around the restaurant filling up waters like her life depends on it. Like something’s on fire and she’s the one who has to put it out. Clearly they are extremely busy. She runs over when she gets a chance, checks us in, and immediately tells us they are running about 30 minutes behind.
Tiny tears form. “You mean, we may not sit down until 8:30?” I ask, trying not to put my hanger on her.
It’s not her fault, it’s not her fault, don’t panic.
She kind of half smiled, and said, “I’m so sorry, but yes." She pointed to the bar and away I went.
It was then that I noticed an older “gentleman” and his wife ponied up at the bar. He was giving the hostess the stankest of stank eyes I’ve seen in a while. It was impressive. I knew we were about to have a showdown.
Then this fully grown adult male, with his wife standing RIGHT behind him, proceeds to yell obscenities in this lovely restaurant at this lovely lady. “WE MADE THESE RESERVATIONS SIX F*in WEEKS AGO, AND THEN CONFIRMED THEM TODAY YOU @#$% ^&*#@#$%.”
He moves on to the bartender, slamming his drink down on the bar and yelling at her for something (I’m not even sure what at this point).
My first thought was, “Whoa, holy inappropriate,” and I feel sorry for these ladies. I’m looking around like "Helloooo is anyone watching this?" And then I thought… ummmm WHAT AN IDIOT. Have you ever worked in a restaurant, or in the F&B business at all? Probably not sir, probably not. Oftentimes the wait time for a table is totally out of your control as a hostess/waiter/waitress, even with reservations. Think about it: What if a waiter came up to your table and told you that they needed it for a 7:30 reservation? You’ve be LIVID.
Which brings me to my next point: YOU DO NOT want to piss off your host staff, wait staff, or really any staff in a restaurant for that matter. These people are in charge of your livelihood in the coming moments after you’ve just yelled at them. This is make or break time for your dinner. Do you think the hostess or waiter doesn't tell everyone how rude you are? WRONG.
I was glued. The hostess kept her cool, and up comes the next beligeratti. This time, it's an overly tanned lady wearing a summer mini dress in 50-degree weather, in the mountains. They begin to argue over who’s been waiting longer. She doesn’t even have a reservation, but got here before the other guy. Confusion ensues. More yelling. More hostess keeping her cool. (P.S. lady, seeing nipple in the winter (or ever)… not zexy.) The hostess offers a free appetizer, drink, or something to satiate the crazy lady and the even crazier man behind her. No takers.
Eventually they all storm out of the restaurant. They have formed a posse of angry patrons. They even take their drinks, IN THE GLASSWARE, with them to their next destination of terror. Fiiiiiine by me buddies, fine by me.
The hostess comes to get us at 8:40, and I half jokingly say, “Well, I guess if we’d pitched a fit we would’ve gotten a free drink.” She’s got something better up her sleeve for us, Mr. and Mrs. Patient McPatiersons. “Don’t worry!” she says.
And after that, our free appetizer comes. And then my free glass (ok, glasses…) of wine. And then free dessert. VICTORY IS OURS.
“See?” Ed tells me. “See what happens when you don’t yell at people?!” I'm not sure what he's insinuating here, but I'm fine with it at this point because I've been fed, and had dessert.
And that my friends, is all you have to do. Don't let your hanger get the best of you!
So to recap future restaurant behavior tips:
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