The Door Bitch

HO. HO. HO. The DOOR BITCH does Christmas! I work every year on...

Fri, 21 Dec 2012 14:23:00 -0500

HO. HO. HO.

The DOOR BITCH does Christmas! I work every year on christmas. It totally sucks! If I were a snowman, I’d probably use my blow dryer to melt a more cheerful snowman on my way home from work. So, I decided to write a song, to all the CRAZY REGULARS out there who are spending the holidays with me… just like every other day of the year…(can’t people get a little more original?)

***TUNE TO: CHESTNUTS ROASTING ON AN OPEN FIRE***

Breasts approaching…oh set me on fire.

That boss’s staring at your (panty) hose.

Her name’s name’s Carol, she’d like to sit by the fire,

And folks dressed up in slutty clothes.

Everybody knows, a regular with camel toe.

Hell, it makes the evening sight.

Many shots, and her eyes are a glow.

We see this routine every night…

I have more in store… beware of the regulars who drink. This time of year you may see sides of them that you wish never existed! I’ve seen tears, I’ve had threats, I’ve seen cheating. It’s like they turn into extra scary monsters who have more demands than ever before and act like they own this joint. But it’s ok, because we all get to start over in the new year…right?

Tales of a Restaurant Regular: "The WEINER." (pronounced WHINER)

Fri, 21 Dec 2012 13:16:00 -0500

The bitch is back! (Or so Elton John told me) It’s been a busy holiday season, FULL of crazies, but I’m back with a brand new installment of the series, “Tales of a Restaurant Regular.”

We’ll call her Lisa Weiner, because she totally was one (a whiner)! She was in her late 50s, a Jew from NYC, and she was single. Nothing wrong with that, until I found out she still lived with her parents. And that says a lot about a person! I started to question… does she still use their credit cards? Do they make her french toast on Saturday mornings? Has she ever brought a man home to meet them? (Not a boy, a MAN) Oh so many questions. But you can’t get too personal with restaurant regulars…THEY KNOW WHERE YOU WORK. It was hard to avoid that with Lisa. She dined alone for lunch and dinner at my restaurant or the sister restaurant for years. She would call ahead and ask to speak to the bartender (she knew all of their names) and asked for them to reserve “her seat” for her. Bar seats are never reserved unless you’re like… Barack Obama. So we never guaranteed it to her. Of course her seat was the one right next to the service bar and where the servers would go to pick up their drinks for tables so she could chat with them too. She paced herself quite well, knowing she would be there for 5-8 hours at a time. Here’s how her order would go:

12:15pm - Lemonade

1:00pm - Iced tea (she switched)

1:30 - Side salad

2:30 - Hot tea

4:00 - Dozen Oysters (because even single ladies need an aphrodisiac, right?!)

5:30 - Club Soda

….Rest period….

7pm - Salad that SHE created (items combined from all salads on the menu, of course)

8pm - Steamed fish (whatever was on the menu)

9pm - SHE’S GONE!

Lisa would just stare at people. One time she brought her holiday cards to write while sitting at the bar. Her list was EVERYONE who worked in the restaurant, or for the company. Because we were her only friends! Sad, right? A little. But NOT SO SAD when she gets in on the “gossip”. She would know who liked who, who was dumped by who, who had made out drunkenly over the weekend, who had their period. You name it! Funny thing is, I never met her parents. She talked about them, but never brought them in. In 4 years of knowing her, I never saw her eat with anyone! The worst was when she joined facebook. Oy! You couldn’t NOT accept the friend request, because she would be in the restaurant that day and question you about it! She was one of the nosiest people though, so when you were friends on facebook, she’d come in and say things like “How was your cousin’s wedding? The chocolate-chip cake and candles on the centerpieces looked really great.” She was on the spectrum of Regular —> Stalker. And it was happening fast! Finally one day we got a new manager, and he did not like Lisa. He was all about making the big bucks for the restaurant, and here was a woman who took up a bar seat for 8 hours at a time and drank lemonades. To him, it was not worth her business. So, one day he said we were not reserving her seat. And she was appalled by this, which I totally understand. But he was serious about this. He wanted to get rid of the Weiner for GOOD. I felt bad, but I also hoped maybe this would be a good sendoff into the world! Maybe she would walk down the street and meet a friend, or a man, or buy a pet, or an apartment far away from her mom and dad!

But lets be honest here… she definitely found the next restaurant that would reserve her a bar seat and create her “off the menu salad” and let her sit and stalk the employees night and day.

I haven’t seen her in a long time, but once in a blue moon I get a facebook message. Only now, I don’t have to respond since I know she won’t be showing up at work!

Until next time, with Tales of a Restaurant Regular! #doNOTbeaCrazyRegular

You know you've become a foodie when...

Tue, 31 Jul 2012 17:22:00 -0400

You can smell truffle oil from miles away.

You bring obscure spices to your friends houses to cook dinner.

Your DVR is full of food network shows.

Your DVR is also full of Man Vs. Food episodes.

You stay in on Tuesdays to watch CHOPPED.

You discuss recipes with strangers instead of talking about…the weather?

Vacations are based around restaurant reservations.

Your mom calls you for advice on cooking.

Your grandmom calls you for advice on cooking.

Your cousin texts you where to bring his date to dinner.

You question if things are grass fed or organic.

You’re friendly with your local butcher.

You enjoy a vegan meal from time to time.

You find yourself enjoying walking into a Williams Sonoma as you did a clothing store.

You read food blogs.

You have “regular status” at at least 2 of your favorite restaurants.

You sit at bars instead of dining rooms.

You brunch every week.

You read restaurant reviews in the newspaper.

You have your concept for opening your “ideal restaurant” in the back of your mind.

You follow gourmet food trucks on twitter.

You can eat 2 dozen oysters and still want more.

You appreciate different cultures because of their cuisine.

Your go-to sushi place knows your order by your name.

Your iphone has a “PLACES TO EAT” list in the notes section.

In your fridge there is always hummus, good chocolate, fresh herbs.

You occasionally find yourself turning into a Japanese tourist and taking pictures of dishes worth remembering.

You go to wine tastings.

You judge what your coworkers order for lunch.

You judge yourself when you organize a “group dinner” somewhere.

People call you “fancy” (you’re just well fed)

You know the best outdoor patios to eat on.

You were raised on fine dining, or worked in fine dining. (There comes a time when these 2 worlds collide and you are on a common level.)

OR WHEN SOMEONE REFERS TO YOU AS A FUCKIN’ FOODIE.

…..What? This isn’t me…or is it? Foodies UNITE. Catch a falling (4) star (rating) and enjoy yourself! Now fuck off.

Tales of a Restaurant Regular..."Drew & Catherine" [3rd installment]

Tue, 24 Jul 2012 22:29:04 -0400

I’ve met a lot of weird, fucked up people in my life, but Restaurant Regulars can out-weird them all. Here’s another tale for you.

Drew and Catherine were 2 of a kind. And their relationship blossomed from a casual dating relationship to a full blown marriage just before my eyes. Literally… they were married in the steak house where I worked. Catherine was frail with translucent skin, a bob of wirey hair that was too cartoon-like for her bony face with a 3-time nose job. I can only imagine that “pointy” was all she could reference when she spoke with the plastic surgeon. I couldn’t even tell her age because she had the body of a 7 year old boy and the head of a 90 year old woman. I’m gonna go with 40-ish. Drew was just the yin to her yang. He was a little taller than her, tanning-bed-bronzed skin, perfect white teeth, an uncomfortably tight shirt usually tucked into tighter jeans, and shoe’s that he borrowed from Elton John’s tour bus. He was the most flamboyant man I had ever met………. with a wife. Catherine obviously didn’t see that side of him. She let him finish every sentence she started, she giggled as he flailed his arms in the air when we were out of his favorite dessert, she let him complement every outfit I ever wore, and she accepted that he traveled 3/7 days a week for “business.” To top off their lovely little marriage, they had a white shitzu who they treated as their child.

Now, this couple was also a fucking pain in the ass. They had notes* like no other in opentable. (*you can add “notes” to people’s history at the restaurant if they use opentable… be afraid…you never know if you’re the “bald a-hole who tips like shit” or “irritating sweaty woman”…or not!!!) Drew and Catherine’s notes read something like this:

ALLERGY TO NUTS.

ALLERGY TO PEANUTS.

NO NUTS. (except in his mouth? sorry- too easy)…

NO NUT OIL.

WILL DIE IF YOU USE NUTS.

CHOP THEIR SALAD.

LIKES TO SHARE THINGS.

NO ICE IN WATER, WILL SEND IT BACK.

CORNER TABLE - ALWAYS!!!

CALLS 3 MINUTES BEFORE HE EXPECTS A CORNER TABLE.

LOVES CARROT CAKE MINUS NUTS.

HAD THEIR WEDDING HERE.

SERIOUSLY, A CORNER FUCKING TABLE OR HE WILL EAT YOUR FACE.

ALLERGY***NUTS***

Now, we take allergies very seriously in the restaurant industry, but the fact that he had to tell us IN ADDITION to the many times we had it in his notes already was just comical after a while. And let me explain to all of your corner table requests out there- if you call 3 MIN BEFORE, we probably don’t have a corner table for you. I’d get a lot of “ohhhh, you dont? but we got married here…” from Drew everytime he would come in after calling 3 minutes before, expecting me to roll out the red carpet. SORRY! But there are other important people that dine out too.

The wedding was too much. They had a Jewish wedding in a steak house that was full of pork and non kosher meat. The chuppa was atop the wine cooler, where guests could stare at bottles of red and white as they watched the 2 crazies become 1 unit. Catherine wanted pictures in the butcher’s section of the kitchen. She wanted to rub her white dress up against the bloody side of a cow so she could remember this special day. Drew encouraged it. It was disgusting. They smooched below huge sides of animal aka hanging cured pork. As a dead pig stared up at them as the photographer captured the essence of their future. She smelled of dead animal as she kissed the guests at the wedding. The best is, they don’t even eat steak half of the times they come in! Since when did it have some symbolic meaning to their marriage? Drew bragged to all of his too-fabulously-dressed-men-aka-his-“cousins”. It must be the weirdest fucking wedding album to look at. I’m not making this up. It was a trip to watch, and I am probably in the background of a picture standing by the podium with my mouth half open as I stared in disbelief.

Drew and Catherine continue to come in as regulars. The look on their faces when they come in is priceless: She looks as if she is going to pass out from starvation, and he is usually bubbling with excitement to see what my outfit is. We’ve even discussed where we shop. I think if he didn’t have Catherine on his arm, we might even be friends! I’m a great fag hag. The whole situation was fun to fantasize about until I realized the underlying REAL reason they live their lives as a married couple.

Drew is from Canada…

‘Nuff said.

Till next time with Tales of A Restaurant Regular… Hasta luego!

Do you know how many phone calls I get a night with guests who...

Fri, 06 Jul 2012 00:16:00 -0400

Do you know how many phone calls I get a night with guests who ask, “What is your dress code?” I’m trained to answer with, “Business Casual sir. No jacket required.” As if we are in fucking 1845 and you’re going to show up in a dinner jacket with a handle bar mustache. [Ehhh hipsters, don’t answer that one.] I love how that confuses people more: ”Soooo are jeans allowed?” is usually the next peak in our conversation.

What I’d really like to say is, “WE WILL TAKE YOUR MONEY NO MATTER WHAT THE FUCK YOU ARE WEARING. THOSE ARE THE KIND OF PEOPLE I WORK FOR. IF YOU WANT TO WEAR YOUR MOST INAPPROPRIATE OUTFIT BUT WILL BUY A DECENT BOTTLE OF WINE, BY ALL MEANS COME IN SO WE CAN SERVE YOU.”

GO FUCK YOURSELF...the answer to everything.

Thu, 28 Jun 2012 17:06:51 -0400

I find that working in a restaurant has helped me develop an answer to ANY impossible request, bizarre question, or uncomfortable situation: GO FUCK YOURSELF. Seriously, it works every time! Here are ten examples of when to think to yourself (or say out loud and collect unemployment) GO FUCK YOURSELF.

1. Woman walks up to the host stand to complain about her table AFTER she has placed her order with the server and is already having a drink at the table. What can I do for her she asks?

GO FUCK YOURSELF.

2. Picky person on the phone wants to know what we have on the menu… excuse me, ALL OF THE MENU? I offer a website to go to and they’re “not near a computer”… everyone has a smartphone or ipad or a friend with one of the 2. My answer to you is…

GO FUCK YOURSELF.

3. Two year old kid is running loose in the dining room. Mother is sipping a glass of wine and smiling as if THE WORLD THINKS HER KID IS SO CUTE it doesn’t matter that this child is causing a hazardous threat for the staff and other guests. Hire a babysitter or…

GO FUCK YOURSELF.

4. Sad and lonely weird dude is at the bar. After too many drinks and dinner alone, he comes up to try and make conversation with me and some of my hosts. Seriously, you are sweaty and drunk and unappealing. Go on match.com or…

GO FUCK YOURSELF. (no seriously, go home and masturbate and maybe you’ll feel better about yourself?)

5. Oh your manager is not giving you the vacation request you put in like 6 months ago? Because he predicts it to be a “busy weekend and we need you here”…? I’m going to make up a sexual harassment claim to corporate or you can…

GO FUCK YOURSELF.

6. Oh no that server is NOT complaining again that you triple sat him! What a pussy. If you can’t handle that then you shouldn’t have applied to work in a busy restaurant. Take it like a man or…

GO FUCK YOURSELF.

7. VIP table didn’t get the corner they asked for! UH OH! That table is EVERYTHING TO THEM. They’re mad because they always sit there? Unless you’re the king of the world, you can…

GO FUCK YOURSELF.

8. You can’t wait at the bar for your table because you don’t drink? I get that, but I can’t seat you yet and there is nowhere else for you to stand. OH, so you want to stand directly in front of me and have a staring contest? You know what you can do? You can…

GO FUCK YOURSELF.

9. You have an allergy to CARBS? You mean you have to eat gluten free. You have celiac? Oh, no… just CARBS in general? Is that why you have a tummy tuck and anorexic looking arms? I get it now… you’re “allergic” to carbs… RIGHT on lady, you can just…

GO FUCK YOURSELF.

10. Thanks for the tip! You almost hit 15% which is pretty rude here in America. Oh… That’s not a tip? That’s your valet money. SILLY ME, I thought I gave you great service and made this evening PERFECT for you. Ohhhh you’re just going to smile at me as I clear your disgusting plates. YOU CAN SERIOUSLY

GO FUCK YOURSELF.

XOXO,

The Door Bitch.

Tales of a "Restaurant Regular"...Grey-ish Gardens. The 2nd installment.

Fri, 22 Jun 2012 12:05:00 -0400

Tales of a “Restaurant Regular”…Grey-ish Gardens.

I have a love/hate relationship with “regulars”. I love the half smile they have when they walk through the door. A smile that says something like, “Yeah, sorry it’s ME again. I know, I know, I eat here a LOT, don’t I? I walk in unannounced and demand a corner table. I’m a pain, aren’t I? Teeheehee. But look at my apologetic little smile! Doesn’t this make you like me? I just NEED to have that fish dish I get 3 times a week…for the past 6 years.” Teeheehee my ass. You’ve become so entitled I wanna throw that fucking fish on your perfectly salon-blow-dryed hair. Did that come out of my mouth? PHEW NO. Seriously, too many of these people exist. Restaurant regulars are the equivalent of monsters. And it’s sad but true to say, that we have totally created them! We are the enablers. Whatever, nothing I can do about that but smile and BITCH.

ONTO TALES OF A RESTAURANT REGULAR, #2…

Once upon a time I was working at this fancy steakhouse, and we had some pretty pretentious clientele. I take that back: EVERYONE was pretentious, or “VIP” as we deem them. And my favorite was an elderly mother/daughter duo that could paint the town CHANEL. Everytime they walked in, it felt like I was breathing in designer. They never repeated an item of clothing. Ever. Now that’s impressive. We will call the daughter SuzieQ and the mother, Clara. SuzieQ was about 70 and Clara was about 90, both in age and weight. They made a reservation for EVERY Weds/Sat of EVERY week at 8:30. I like that- old women who eat at 8:30, way cooler than the 5:30 walker-crowd. Right? Though their order never really changed, they still wanted to be presented with menus every time so they could read them to see if they were in the mood for something else. I guess it was the thrill of dining out that entertained them. My issue at the front door was really about making sure I had the ONE TABLE that they sat on. That’s right, they would not sit ANYWHERE else. Table 20. I will never forget it. According to SuzieQ, it was the perfect table to see what was going on, not too close to the kitchen, and to be able to hear one another because it was a corner table. I think I tried so hard to get them table 20 every time because part of me thought I’d get put in the will for a few Chanel blazers or a bag. One can only dream! Anyway, it was always hard because EVERY couple I would seat in that booth would take their sweet fucking time and not let backwaiters clear their food and I would walk by a million times and then they’d still sit longer. Annoying. Or I’d seat a deuce who would eat in 35 minutes and then the table would sit open until 8:30 and my boss would flip a shit on me. Glorious. I’d say 1 out of 3 times I’d have their table for them though because I’m THAT good.

SuzieQ and Clara had a great routine. They only liked ONE server, and if she wasn’t there they liked one of the managers. If for some reason both of them were not there, she trusted me to take her order at the front door. They were “highly uncomfortable” if someone who they did not trust was going to take their order. I knew the order because about 2-3 nights when they weren’t in, they’d order take out! They lived around the corner in an entire floor apartment together. Have you seen Grey Gardens? Picture them, only skinnier. Their order was great too- SuzieQ would have steamed fish with about 6 sides of steamed vegetables: NO SALT, NO BUTTER whatsoever. Countless times she sent back things because she could “sense some salt in there”. We would have to tell her that the chef blanched her vegetables before she came in, separate from the salt-blanched-veggies for the rest of the service. She believed it, though I highly doubt that was true! Who is allergic to salt anyway, right? A 70 pound woman, that’s who ;) Clara was even better. She would have a huge double-chop, fatty, rack of lamb with all of the sides SuzieQ would never even touch: fries, mashed potatoes, creamy spinach, cheesey potatoes, onion rings; really anything that was coated in a layer of fatty cream/salt/butter. I guess when I’m 90 I’m gonna let it all go too. They only drank bottled flat water, and never had dessert. Throughout dinner SuzieQ would write down notes on a notepad and make these mysterious lists. And this is great, they both worked! Together, too…like real work in an office. They’d come in late because they were in “meetings.” I plan to retire at like 45 so that’s extremely admirable that these 2 wealthy ladies still work! They should relax and take a fucking trip to Fiji! (Ok, they probably do that too, let’s be honest…) I felt so bad for their driver Enrique- a lovely man from Ecuador who once was a surgeon and now answers to their beckon call. He drives them half a block to and from the restaurant every night. He picks up their take-out orders every other night. On the nights when they’d send their take-out back because something wasn’t “hot” enough, I’d ask Enrique if they had an oven. He’d answer with “Yes, many ovens, and 7 bedrooms. They don’t cook.” These women made me smile. I swear, when I’m dripping in Chanel pearls, I will use an oven! (…who am I kidding. I’m dripping in H&M and I barely make cereal…)

As high maintenance as they were, they were also always so nice to me. The only time I ever heard Clara speak was when she let out a soft yelp and touched my dress. I was wearing leopard, and SuzieQ walked up to me and said, “OH MY, CHEETAH is Clara’s favorite print!” It was amazing. Maybe I was just lucky because they didn’t even acknowledge the rest of the staff. Everyone was so irritated by them too! How can you not love 2 cute old ladies who spend 5 nights between take-out and reservations eating the food from our restaurant? You can’t! Unless you dont have table 20, you don’t have any server on that night who they like, you don’t have rack of lamb in house, you drop a pinch of salt on the food, the air conditioning isn’t working, the table is reserved by a president, and the list goes on… then shit might go down. BADLY. This has totally happened to me many times, but I survived.

I adored SuzieQ and Clara so much so that I check my mailbox everyday for a package slip with hopes of receiving a fabulous Chanel blazer with my name on it. **Wishful thinking**

Until next time, with Tales of a Restaurant Regular…

Ways to deal with angry people? I’ve got a few. 1. Kill...

Wed, 02 May 2012 13:38:00 -0400

Ways to deal with angry people? I’ve got a few.

1. Kill them with kindness or, ”The bitch in reverse” !

I know, I know, how do you smile at someone who is acting just plain old nasty? It sucks, but it works. The nicer you are, the dumber they feel. Don’t turn away, it works I promise! They can complain about their food, their table, the weather, the fact that they can’t fit into their pants, WHATEVER! But, they cannot complain about you not being hospitable. It’s a hard thing to do, and trust me, when someone is yelling in my face if I cannot seat them without the rest of their party, all I want to do is tell them to leave me the fuck alone and hope they spill red wine all over their already-too-tight-white dress. (Am I judging?) Just translate what you are thinking in your head to being overtly nice and hospitable. Turn the bitch around. (Also Gloria Estefan’s latest hit)

2. Say something, question it!

Sometimes the angry people don’t show it until AFTER their meal. I hate this! How can we fix something that is bothering you if you don’t say something? We check back with tables, we check back with guests ALL NIGHT LONG. So there really shouldn’t be a reason to hold back unless you’re just looking for free shit. UGH. And you KNOW people love to do this just for free shit. Honestly, if I see something is not looking right, if a guest isn’t eating their meal, if they LOOK unhappy, I ask what’s wrong? I assume something isn’t right. Let’s just hope they’re not in the middle of a divorce conversation.

3. Juuuuuust Breathe. Don’t take things personally.

In the words of Anna Nalick (ok I did actually have to look up who sings that song) JUUUUST BREATHE! This is most likely not your career. You know how doctors need to go through years and years of school just to get their degree? These are our years of school. Our years of struggle, of learning, of trying new things, of not feeling like you’re at the top of your game. It sucks most of the time, and you spend a lot of nights “rethinking your life” but know that YOU’RE NOT ALONE. Whether you’re an actor, comedian, dancer, painter, or have no idea what you ‘wanna be when you grow up’, that’s OK. Sometimes you don’t even realize how much you learn at a restaurant. Do NOT let these Angry People GET TO YOU! Don’t take it personally. Forget them, and breathe!! Life’s a bitch, but we’ll all get to where we wanna be one day. ***THIS IS THE MOST POSITIVE I’VE BEEN IN A LONG TIME***BECAUSE I TOO STILL WORK IN A RESTAURANT***AMEN.

4. Karma’s a bitch. REMEMBER THAT!

I saw a woman tumble down 2 flights of stairs. I like to think Karma got her GOOD. She was drunk, she was rude to me at the front door, rude to the server, rude to the backwaiter…etc. And in the end? She got served a fucking fall that looked like something Jackie Chan does in action movies. It was awesome/scary, but it goes to show- keep your cool, karma will take care of the rest.

5. Eat a Reeses!

Seriously. Unless you have a peanut allergy (because we all know how prevalent they are now!!!). Around 11pm on a busy night after being yelled at and scorned by numerous angry people, there is nothing better than stuffing my face full of chocolate. Reeses in particular. Spare the calories and give yourself a damn good treat! It helps, I promise.

You can do it. Smile at an angry person at your shift today and you’ll feel a little better inside. Xoxo, the Door Bitch.

Everytime I hear “heyyyy mami, mi corazon…” I...

Wed, 02 May 2012 11:55:28 -0400

Everytime I hear “heyyyy mami, mi corazon…” I want to throw them the finger. But of course, sometimes I question it!

Tales of a "Restaurant Regular"...1st installment.

Thu, 19 Apr 2012 15:12:00 -0400

“Regulars” exist in every restaurant. You know, the people who dine at your place at least once or 4 times a week? Everyone has them, and everyone has a love/hate relationship with them. You love the business they bring (especially if they tip well) and you hate them for being major assholes if their specific needs are not met.

I’ve met and worked with a LOT of regulars over the years of working in restaurants… so I’d like to consider this the first installment of the Tales of a Restaurant Regular series.

ONCE UPON A TIME, years ago, I met this man who I will call Mr. T. He was a very rich man, who obviously had a thing about change, because he dined at the restaurant I was working at EVERY Monday and Thursday. Since they opened. It had already been 4 years when I met him. Things obviously were already in place. I looked at his history (in opentable you can check on people’s history and see their specific preferences and how many times they’ve dined there, etc.) and his notes looked more like a scroll. He had a LONG LIST of servers he put on his “X” list. Can you believe that? There were about 8 servers on the list that were NOT ALLOWED TO WAIT ON HIM. I wonder what possibly could have happened to get put on the “X” list of Mr. T. Maybe they were not his type, or too sarcastic, democrat, or smelled funny, or spit in his food? I can only imagine. Mr. T did have about 3 (it might have been 2, honestly) servers that were on his GOOD list. Phew! Thank god the manager scheduled Mr. T’s servers on Mon/Thurs. Though I’d be curious to go back and see if his head blew up or if he just went ape shit and broke all the glassware in the restaurant if someone from the “X” list showed up and asked him what kind of water he preferred. Water was another highlight of the notes. He liked his water with NO ice and in a wine glass instead of a water glass. Probably to feel fancy? That’s why I drink water out of a wine glass. He had a special tea that he liked in a special tea kettle that he purchased for the restaurant to keep for him. HE HAD A FUCKING SHELF IN THE KITCHEN with his little cast iron tea pot. I didn’t even have a locker and I was a full-time employee! WTF man. Mr. T. was using us as his dining room. He owned property at the restaurant and had the worlds highest expectations that everything would go according to plan when he walked in that door. And he always dined with one woman, who I will call Betty. For the first year that I worked at this place, I thought Betty was his wife. One day a server corrected me and said that Mr. T was a huge queen and Betty was his secretary. What? They were both like 70 years old, and I’d already pictured their house in the country and the two of them sipping tea on a patio under the summer sun. Once I learned about their relationship, it all made sense. There were moments where he would SHUSH Betty and I thought, omg does he beat her? One time, they were walking out of the restaurant and before I could give them a proper goodbye, he flipped on Betty and said “Why the hell do you not have the keys out? The unlock button works from here dammit.” Betty seemed to be used to the silencing act Mr. T clearly had done before. She looked at me and shrugged her arms. I think from that moment on, I was happy she wasn’t his wife. I wonder if his tea kettle still sits on the Mr. T shelf too. I know one thing, I NEVER made it onto the “X” list! Wahooooo!

More “Regular Guest” stories for another time… thanks have a great evening!

We're people too, dammit.

Mon, 02 Apr 2012 18:35:00 -0400

The other day I was working the front door and a guy ran up to the podium to check in. He had a drink in his hand and yelled in my face, “BERMAN [made up last name, duh] FOR 2.” ** I had one of those moments you have when you need to place where you know this person from…a beat later, I realized that I kind of dated this guy in middle school. Because all dating is “kind of” in middle school. He had the same moment, and was surprised to see me. OR, he was shocked he was such an asshole to me and he actually knew me personally! Let’s hope it’s the latter. Honestly, I didn’t think I had it in me, but I responded with, “IS THAT REALLY HOW YOU TALK TO PEOPLE WHEN YOU GO TO A RESTAURANT?” These are the things you think but don’t say aloud, but I thought our juvenile romance gave me permission to blurt it back in his face. He giggled and totally thought this was my way of flirting. Gross. What was I thinking when I was 13? I half smiled, and thought to myself, “No dude. You don’t treat people like a wall. Just because I stand here and have to smile at you no matter what doesn’t mean I am not offended by unpleasant people. Just because I work here, doesn’t make me lower than you. WE’RE PEOPLE TOO, DAMMIT.” He lightly apologized (if blaming your martini is grounds for an apology…) I was proud of myself to put him in his place. Maybe he learned to respect people who work in restaurants (wishful thinking), but probably not considering he had another 3 martinis following the first. Like I always say, if everyone worked in a restaurant for a week of their life, the world would be a much better place.

**Many guests check in like this while yelling in my face. When I say, “Hi how is your day?” I’d appreciate it if you didn’t respond in code.

Dear Mr. Restaurant Guest...

Wed, 22 Feb 2012 11:25:33 -0500

Dear Mr. Restaurant Guest,

Good evening! How are you? Hello? HIIIIII. I’m RIGHT HERE. Oh, you can’t look people in the eye? I get it… I’m not important… oh no “hi” back? Just a “Yea…. I’m here for a dinner…” You think you look pretty important in that suit, but you’re not important to me EITHER. But I am the ticket to you enjoying a good dinner, so you might want to stop looking around and tell me your fucking reservation name. OHHH you don’t KNOW the name you have a reservation under?! (**side note- how come there are shit tons of people who go to restaurants and have NO IDEA what the name is on their reservation… not even a guess…**) Well, let me see… you look like every other business man in this restaurant. OH! You’re gonna throw out first names? Do you know how many “Steve’s” and “Joe’s” we have coming in tonight? 12. Yep. I’m not even lying. No, I’m not being sarcastic, come around and look at this fucking computer screen. Actually don’t. Please keep your distance. OH! You just looked me in the eye. I know, they’re pretty. Ok now you’re looking at me like you wish you looked me in the eye before…? I see your wedding ring you sneaky man in a suit…I kind of preferred it when you were not looking me in the eye now. I don’t dig superassholes. So, we’ve accomplished nothing except that you now you won’t leave since you have no idea who you are meeting for dinner, OR how many people you are supposed to meet. Yes, there is a difference between a 4-top and a 7-top. One of those? Please stop trying to make small talk with me. I don’t give a shit about the weather today, and no I don’t find you appealing whatsoever. Oh, now you want me to check your… ::chucks a clunky old heavy brown briefcase my way:: Great thank you. I was JUST about to offer to do that. Oh, ha HA ha. It’s heavy? Thanks for the afterthought, your joke is original and I’ve never heard it before. ::BIG SMILE:: Ok, back to the drawing board? You with me? Oh you’re not with me. You’re on your way to the bar. Forget it, I don’t care if you eat dinner here or not. Please don’t wave a “thank you” from the bar. I don’t like it. In fact, I don’t like you! You enjoy your “cheapest beer on tap” and please don’t make eye contact with me on the way out. Prick.

Sincerely (or not),

The Door Bitch

New Years Resolutions? Yeah, I got some.

Wed, 28 Dec 2011 20:26:05 -0500

Working in the service industry can kiillllll you. Or it can burn you our by the end of the year. In fact, I’m writing this while sick in bed with a sinus monster attacking me. I’m feeling like 2012 is going to be a hell of a lot better than 2011… maybe because I like even numbers better than odd numbers? I don’t really know. But I’ve got some resolutions.

1. Eat less Chocolate. (Skittles and Twizzlers are still allowed in any quantity)

2. Take more time off. (I work too much, and take on too many jobs)

3. Write more. (How many projects do I have ‘in the works’? I get a stomach ache thinking about the work ahead of me!!) …i think i can i think i can…

4. Travel more. (I guess if I take off work this might be tricky…)

5. QUIT RESTAURANT WORK. *or at least go to part time?

6. Book a commercial. (National, please?)

7. Sell a script. (write more than one first)

8. Draw more. (maybe post some of my sketches up here?)

9. Organize my apt better. (I’m kind of a neat freak…)

10. Perform more. (the bitch can sing. and cartwheel. and riverdance.)

11. Learn how to “riverdance”

Do you have resolutions? Write them down… then you’ll feel stuck to it when you look back.

BE NICE TO ME WHEN I WORK ON NEW YEARS EVE. cheers to 2011.

Do you hate coat season as much as I do?

Tue, 20 Dec 2011 11:58:24 -0500

Do you hate coat season as much as I do?

Ok, TMI. People say way too much.

Mon, 12 Dec 2011 20:39:57 -0500

I recently taught my mom that “TMI” is when people tell you too much information about themselves that makes you wish they kept it to themselves. I get that people need to vent sometimes. Sometimes it’s your waiter, your dentist, your chinese food delivery guy… and sometimes its the Maitre D’ of the restaurant you’re eating at. I like to think of myself as a very intuitive person. So I guess the vibe rubs off at work. But I’m only getting paid to meet, greet and seat…not have a full therapy session. I hear a lot of personal shit that I don’t want to know, so I thought I’d share, because I sure as hell get a kick out of it.

This guy came in one night and was a clone of BRUNO. If you haven’t seen Bruno, you a crazy mutha… Anyway, this guy didn’t just look like Bruno, he sounded like him too. To give you a better picture, he had acid washed jeans, SUPER tight ones, tucked into tan uggs, with a maroon tight long sleeved shirt, LOW vneck, and a “sexy necklace” draping on his bare chest. He had blonde flat-ironed hair, and looked like he just left a tanning bed (though in his world it was probably a yacht in St. Barths). After he ate dinner with his girlfriend (or daughter?) he came to the front door while she used the restroom. I asked how long he was in town for… “Oh, we leave town tomorrow, go to Zurich for christmas shopping, go to Italy for christmas shopping, go to London for christmas shopping, and then to Canada to celebrate christmas and open presents, and then we will take a holiday in Tahiti in January because we will be SO tired from shopping.”

Are you fucking kidding me? I pick like one street in one city and make it happen in an hour and a half. But country to country christmas shopping, OF COURSE! Why didn’t I think of that? People really make me feel POOR.

I guess I was shocked by his lavish shopping plans… “Cool, sounds fun.” I said, like I totally do that too. He told me he had 2 kids (I’m assuming adopted from Africa and named OJ and Aretha) and that he needed to shop for them. I was like, “Ohhhh kids?” And he says, “Yea. I’m so jealous of my son because he’s 15 and he hits on my girlfriend because she is 20 and she likes it.”

What? That’s pretty fucking weird dude. Here in America, you don’t just tell people that…makes my sick imagination go wild.

I quickly changed the subject. I asked if he had plans for the rest of the night. Bad idea. He told me “we are going to go home and take a bath together and then go to bed. Not necessarily for sleeping, but for other things in bed.”

And, I’m nauseous. TMI mister Bruno.

Some time ago, this woman called to make a reservation and she told me that she NEEDED A ROUND TABLE or she would not be able to dine with us…

WHOA, calm down woman.

I said that I would do my best to request a round table but that I cannot guarantee it since it’s hard to tell what the night will look like. She then decided to tell me that one of her guests, her son, was dying of cancer and this would probably be one of the last dinners he would have with his family.

HOLY SHIT… TMI?!?! I was speechless. I’m just working at a restaurant here lady! I guess I was confused if I should tell her how awful that must be and I’m SO SORRY and of course I’ll get whatever table she wants?! Or if I tell her that what she is telling me is WAY TOO MUCH INFORMATION to get a round table, and she is seriously milking her son’s condition for the wrong things. I kinda wanted to just cry… because that was just sad. TMI.

I gave her the best round table in the house. I sent them extra desserts too. SEE? I CAN BE SOOOOO NICE. ;)

Ok, so we had a very busy night one night, and we were not seating incomplete parties. Some people think thats a bitchy thing to do, BUT ITS NOT. If we seat incomplete parties then the whole dining room would be sitting and not ordering and the bar would overcrowd and complete parties would get angry and the list goes on… but thats an explanation for another time. Anyway, I get very mixed responses from people when I tell them that I cannot seat them until their guests arrive. Things like, “But I’m pregnant!” ”I broke my leg 6 years ago and cannot stand on it for long!” ”I had back surgery!” Yeah yeah yeah, THEN DON’T SHOW UP EARLY! Ok, so one night this man, who looked like Drew Carey before he lost a shit ton of weight, came up to check in. I told him that he could wait by the bar until his party arrives, and he tells me “Maam, I’m 40 years old and if I don’t sit now my prostate is going to explode all over you.”

WHAT? I don’t care if this is a joke, or if you’re dead serious, but the fact that you brought my attention to that is disgusting and for that you can wait outside on the street for all I care. I have a GREAT sense of humor and that’s just plain weird and nasty. Like your bulging gut in that tight sweater. So get the fuck out of my sight. …sorry, raging on that one a little bit…!

I didn’t say anything but I stared at him so I think he got the message that I was not amused or concerned, but plain old grossed out. He walked away slowly and waited at the bar. Feels damn good to have someone ‘get you’ just by staring at them. I didn’t seat him for quite some time. Don’t mess with the door bitch :) We have that power.

I’ll continue to update the TMI ALERTS, but for now, please keep your thoughts to yourself and spare me my appetite.

theclearlydope: Hello Good Morning Internet: In these unstable...

Thu, 08 Dec 2011 09:12:17 -0500

theclearlydope:

Hello Good Morning Internet: In these unstable economic times, it’s something that you should AT LEAST think about.

This made me smile. She definitely looks unappreciative of that view!!!

Top 10 annoying "check-in" lines...

Wed, 07 Dec 2011 23:24:47 -0500

People don’t know how to check in for their reservation. No, seriously, you’d be surprised how many people don’t understand the concept. A lot of the shit people say is just plain annoying. So I made a list of the top 10 annoying “check-in lines” I’ve come across:

10. ”Wow you’re so beautiful I forgot my own name.”

…gag me.

9. “So, what’s good here? Besides the pretty ladies…”

…tip me and I’ll tell you.

8. ”It’s a really special date, so we want a romantic table!”

…we don’t reserve corner tables for paid dates.

7. ”How much does it cost to check coats?”

…gratuities are accepted cheap ass.

6. ”Hi, we’re with the private event.”

…Oh great, which one? We have 7.

5. “Hi we’re here with the sweet 16.”

….Oh great, which one? We have 4.

4. “It’s my son’s birthday, do you think YOU can come to the table and sing to him?”

…Sure. Call my agent first to negotiate my rate.

3. ”I have no idea what the reservation name is…”

…HOW do People NOT know THIS?

2. ”You must eat a lot of great food.”

…Sadly, no. You think they feed us what you order? Family meal could KILL you.

1. ”Is there a bathroom?”

…WHAT RESTAURANT HAS NO BATHROOM? DID YOU JUST CRY A LITTLE INSIDE BECAUSE YOU FEEL THAT STUPID FOR ASKING THAT QUESTION? Thought so.

Welcome to The Door Bitch

Tue, 06 Dec 2011 13:03:00 -0500

Oh, hello, good evening! Welcome to the The Door Bitch. Have you dined with us here before? What a lovely baby you have. Can you tell it to shut the fuck up now so I can answer this phone call? Thanks, enjoy your dinner.

This blog goes out to all of the people who work in the service industry, in particular, all the smart pretty girls and fabulous handsome gays who work the front door. Serving people can be a bitch. And in turn, it can turn you into a bitch. Not necessarily the wicked bitch of the west side, but more of the good bitch of the east side. I think I just nailed the next concept for a Wizard of Oz sequal… right? There are bitches who are mean and there are bitches who are automatically titled just because of the job they work. And that’s me. I work the front door, and sometimes people think I’m a bitch. That’s why I call myself ‘The Door Bitch.’ Now I’m not actually a mean person. Well, depends on what you think is mean… but my dog, some friends and my grandmom think I’m really sweet. But running the door of a restaurant can confuse people that you’re a huge bitch. I’ve even thought it myself sometimes. I’ve walked into restaurants and noticed the Maitre D’ doesn’t know how to smile, or is already judging people by the way they’re dressed, or is ‘too busy’ to look up from her computer. But you know what? She probably just got jack hammered in the face by some pretentious asshole who forgot to make a reservation for him and his prostitute for the evening. Because that happens. Almost every day. So back off the door bitch because we take a lot more shit than you think.

Thank you so much, have a great evening, and I hope to see you again soon!!! (or not)