Monday, November 13, 2006

There are various types of people who come into restaurants who are a host's worst nightmare (drunks, wealthy out-of-towners, children, etc.). And I used to think that it was the nasty people (or, as Boz, calls them if they have a vag: "cunty" - which I would like to extend to everyone, penis- or vag-endowed) who bothered me the most. But then I realized that they are actually not the worst of the bunch.

The worst people who come into restaurants are the annoying people. These are the people who think that they are funny. The people who think we can't see right through their little act; schmoozing with us while they try to get a look at how far down on the list they are. The people who think we haven't heard their jokes about our restaurant before. The people who stand right next to the host stand until their table is ready, supervising us.

Cunty people I can handle because I understand their motivation: they are trying to have their wait for a table extended. They want to spend more time standing instead of sitting down. This is the only possible explanation for their behavior - they don't want to sit down. Because if they did want to sit down, they would be very nice and gracious to us (the people in charge of getting them seated at a table) and then they would leave us alone. But instead they are rude, and derrisive and bother us every 5 minutes - and, in a stunning display of action and consequence, everytime they do that, they get moved further down our list of priorities until they are the last ones standing and we have deuces at 8-tops.

But the irritating people? Seriously, what the fuck? I can't handle them because I don't understand them. All they do is, well, irritate and annoy us. Or distract us from doing our job. Regardless, they take us off our game - and that means that they (and everyone else for that matter) don't get seated as quickly as possible. We can't be curt with them, because they're not being rude to us. So we have to smile and pretend to laugh at their jokes, or care about their adventures trying to get here on the subway, or their kid who works in an italian restaurant back home. When really, all we want to do is do our job so that we can get them the hell out of our hair.

As a for instance, the other night a man kept interrupting DBoz (our maitre d') to make jokes about how long he had been waiting (not long.), or to say "adesso, adesso! do you know what that means? it means 'now' in italian." He was jovial, and obviously just wanted to sit a little early (understandable, as he had a 2 hour quote time), and figured he was ingratiating himself to DBoz. But really, he was making everything at the front go slower because she kept having to talk to him instead of talking to other customers or getting tables seated. And, more importantly for the purpose of this blog, he was driving me up the motherfucking wall and I wanted to a) pull my hair out, b) back hand him and c) scream "leave us alone and let us do our job, it will get you seated sooner and it will help you look like less of a toolbag!" - not necessarily in that order though.

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