As I said, restaurants annoy me more than anything. But in this case, the annoying thing was, we could not even get to sit down. Fucking hostesses annoy me because they are minimum wage kids for the most part, trying to do a big job like managing the seating. It makes no sense that teenagers should be there.
Alright. I'm gonna let you all decide for yourself if I was out of line here.
I am fucking clear on my position, but here goes:
I fly into Kelowna on a Friday night and myself and 3 others go to Raudz. It's a restaurant run by a guy named Rod Butters who fancies himself as a Thomas Keller/Gordon Ramsay celebrity chef type. He's actually pretty good, but not not nearly as good as HE thinks.
It's Friday, so when we arrive it's pretty busy. I ask the hostess how long and she tells me 30 minutes MAX. She puts our names down. Alright, I say, we'll be back then.
So, the four of us go to Bernie's office around the corner and pound back some wine while we wait. After a solid 45 minutes has passed we return. I spot the hostess. I should point out here that I have now had a "few" drinks.
ME: We're back.
HER: Oh. (gives me a who-the-fuck-are-you look)
ME: I gave you another 15 minutes to be sure we could be seated. Phil's the name.
HER: Right. Yeah, thats gonna be a problem....
ME: How so?
HER: Well, it's gonna be at least another hour until we can seat you.
ME: (Killer Stare Down) You cannot be serious. We were in here 45 minutes ago when you told us 30 minutes would be fine.
HER: Yeah, sorry about that.
ME: Hey, sorry 'aint gonna cut it. It's now prime time to get a table anywhere around here and I trusted you when you promised we would be seated in 30 minutes. It's now 45 and your telling me another hour??? We cancelled another reservation. (okay, I bullshitted here but wanted some dramatic effect)
HER: (weak smile) Well, I'm really sorry.
ME: Again, not good enough. How possibly can you fuck up 30 minutes into 90 minutes.
HER: I'm just doing my job....
ME: Your job?? Here's what your job is - figuring out when to sit people down, when they are getting ready to leave, and balancing times for the two. I mean it's really, really, hard to fuck something like that up. I mean you would have to work really hard to fuck that up.
HER: Sir, please don't swear. I'm just doing my job.
ME: No, let me correct you there. Your NOT doing your job.
HER: I'm getting the manager.
ME: You go, girl.
The manager arrives.
Without replaying the entire conversation, we debate what a hostess should be doing, how she fucked up our night out, and perhaps she should consider hairdressing school instead. It's starting to get a little heated, when Rod the chef/owner steps in.
CHEF: Hey I've been listening to all this. What's the problem?
I relate to him how me and my 3 friends have been waiting for an hour now, after being promised a 30 minute wait, and now being told its another hour.
ME: I don't know who is managing this whole operation, but it needs to be reviewed.
(stare from the manager that could stop traffic)
CHEF: Hold on there.
He takes the manager aside, and the next thing we know we are being seated.
I am very annoyed at this, but somewhat revel in this small victory. My 3 friends all come over, and they all wanna know what the fuck happened. Bernie tells me I was flapping my arms like a fucking mongoose and ranting about something. I say no problem, we got seated.
CUT TO THREE DAYS LATER:
My friend Bernie is a restauranteur, someone who I can always speak candidly about the hospitality industry. If things are shitty at his joint I tell him and he takes it like a man. No dopey explanations for the most part. Although, sometimes he probably wants to drift me one in the teeth.
He is well known in Kelowna in the service business. He calls me a few days after eating at Raudz.
Bernie: Philly-boy. Rod Butters was in our place for a beer today.
ME: I hope you charged that douchebag double, ha ha.
Bernie: No, but your officially BANNED from Raudz.
ME: Are you fucking kidding me??
Bernie: Yeah apparently, the hostess AND manager almost quit that night.
ME: For what, being useless??
Bernie: No, for him giving you a table after abusing them. You should apologize. I didn't hear it, but I know what you get like.
ME: Fuck them all, I say.
I hang up.
But, then anger and emotion subside and I think about it. I was a little lit up. I was tired after flying, hungry, and had a buzz going. Three bad combinations for me. Not to mention annoyed.
The restaurant isn't half bad, and most of my friends like going there, so I figure I will be missing out. Also, Rod is a friend of Bernie's as well. Makes Bernie look bad, hanging out with assholes like me. Also, I retrace my words, and decide maybe I went over the top a little.
So I call Rod. It's fucking killing me, but I do it.
I apologize, tell him my side of the story, and explain I probably should not have over-reacted the way I did. He accepts my apology, and tells me I can come back.
But fuck him.
I feel so high and mighty now, I decide I'm not going back until I feel like it.