The good news is, I didn’t quit on Friday.
The bad news is, Friday was a pretty horrible day.
I can sum up the tone and malaise of the day by the following few examples of the too many “WHY” questions I was asked as I greeted and helped arrange seating for 450-plus:
“Why can’t I just make a reservation for an hour from now?” Because we have no room in the book, but feel free to walk in at any time. “Okay, but why can’t I just make a reservation?” Sigh.
“Why don’t you know the name of my group? It’s a big party–10 people, or maybe six, I don’t know. I don’t know if we have reservations.” If you don’t know, I don’t know. “Why can’t I just look on your computer screen for the name?” Because 10 other people are waiting behind you who do know the names of the people they are meeting, because I just read several names to you that might have been your group–and you just can’t come behind the podium, period.
“Why can’t I come in to use the bathroom?” Because I saw you panhandling outside our front door, because you are not a customer, and because I am taking a stand and saying no. “But why?” Because.
“Why did you call someone and ask them to watch me? You don’t like the way I look?” No, sir, I don’t. You looked heavily under the influence as you entered, and I was worried about what was actually in the water bottle you carried. “It’s a free country, right? It’s a bar open to the public in here, right?” he asked, getting closer to the podium, and to me. To which one of the managers replied, “I am sorry sir. I am sorry for the misunderstanding.” To which the guy said to me, “Why did you call a manager to ask them to watch me? Why didn’t you just let me alone? I can take this to the next level, ’cause it’s the way I look, isn’t it?” To which I replied–nothing. And I walked away from the podium while the manager continued to apologize, because I was doing my very best to keep control and not tell him to get the f— away from me.
“Why would you EVER seat a deuce at that big booth? Why? I mean, two in that booth? Why did you do that?” asked my immediate supervising supervisor, not once but several times, as customers crowded the foyer and stood three deep at my podium while I handed out pagers (and no, he was not the manager apologizing to the aggressive drunk guy). Because they wanted to watch soccer. Because no one else would sit in those particular bar booths. Because I figured you wanted people paying to eat lunch with us rather than walking out. “But why?” Oh, please.
“And now you are seating a single in a booth? Why are you doing THAT?” Somehow, I knew you’d ask me that, supervising manager. Because he had been waiting forever, and he was very nice about it, and I thought I’d seat him in a booth because I could. “But why one person in a booth? Come on!” Because you never work a shift when I am working, and I know you are feeling a need to do a “manager thing” with me, so I thought it would be fun to see if you were paying attention. Yeah, that’s it!
“Why won’t you let me go back and see your swimming pool?” You have to leave now, sir. Right now. Right out that door. “Aw, come on, I KNOW there’s a swimming pool in here! Right back there! Why won’t you let me see it? Now!” Because you are crazy and I just can’t deal with another crazy person today. And you, sir, are nuts.
“Why would you EVER book a 25-top tonight? Don’t you know how busy we are going to be? You actually did that?” Yes, supervising manager, I did. And I had the okay from our/your GM and his boss. “Great, they won’t be here when the party comes in. I”ll have to deal with it. Okay, whatever.” Yeah, whatever.
The good news is, Friday is long over.
The bad news is, I’m still fretting about it.