We don’t take reservations because our restaurant is so small. We only have 13 tables, so reservations don’t really make sense for us. It’s our policy. When you came into the restaurant on Wednesday (when we weren’t even open, by the way, and you had to knock on the door to get the attention of someone) asking to make a reservation for Thursday at 5:00, we told you we couldn’t do it. But then you said how important it was because you and your family would be coming from a funeral and you would get to the restaurant as soon as we opened. We agreed to do this for you.
On Thursday, I get your table ready so we can seat at 5:00. I drag four two-tops next to two booths that seat four people each. I also move them down in such a way that we can cap the ends so we can now seat 18 people. If all twenty of you show up, I will bring another table from the front of the restaurant. This all happens as I also set up the patio and do my regular opening sidework.
At 4:45, I eat my shift meal as quickly as possible so I will be ready to serve your grieving family.
At 4:55, I water and ice all the glasses.
At 5:00, I unlock the door.
At 5:05 I think, “Hmmm, must be traffic.”
At 5:15 one of my regulars comes in with his wife and I tell them they can’t sit at their normal table, the same one they sit at every Thursday night.
At 5:30 I begin to think that you should be calling any minute to tell us you are on your way.
At 5:50, I fucking hate you.
At 6:05, I break down the tables because you obviously aren’t coming.
And this is why we don’t take reservations.
I understand that you were having a difficult day, what with burying one of your loved ones and all. You had a lot on your mind, I’m sure. What I don’t understand is how, out of the 20 of you, no one could take the thirty seconds that was needed to pick up a cell phone and let us know that your plans had changed. After all, we were doing you a favor in your time of need. What happened? Were you so overcome with grief that none of you had an appetite? Or were you on the way to our restaurant and someone saw an Olive Garden and got lured in by the thought of all those breadsticks? Or maybe your loved one was resurrected and instead of a somber meal at our restaurant you all went out to celebrate at Dave and Busters. For God’s sake, man, we bought and extra loaf of bread to accommodate you people!
My night went on without incident, but I found myself unable to shake off the rudeness that you exhibited. The next time you ask a restaurant to bend the rules for you in your time of need, please follow through on what you say you will do. Those 20-tops don’t just magically get set up. Someone has to get it all ready. And that someone is a middle-aged bitch of a waiter who, although was very disappointed with your no-show asses, at least found something to blog about today.
Mustard and mayo,
The Bitchy Waiter