“Hey, Restaurant Gal, could you pretend to be a manager and ask this guy who is begging money from my customers to get out?” This from one of the female bartenders.
Um, sure. I know just how intimidating I can seem in my peach-colored DKNY pleated skirt and coordinating cute jewelry. I’m on it.
Adorable outfit aside, it’s all in the voice, I have found: firm, followed by more firm.
This is not a role I covet. But it is one, I guess, I have to take on out of necessity.
To the guy who thought sitting in our planter outside the front door was a great way to pass the time: Move along.
To the crazed woman clad in all green who whined about where she could find the same green top I was wearing: Bye bye.
To the guy who yelled “F— you, bitch” countless times when I would only give him one of our over-sized trash can liners and not “more for my friends” to convert into a poncho during a rain storm: I don’t care how bad the weather is next time, you’re on your own.
To the job applicant who called me “F—ing rude” when I asked her to come back after the lunch crunch to get a job application: Thanks for applying, but unfortunately….
To the panhandlers who think targeting customers as they walk in is a stellar way to earn a nickel: See ya!
To the so-called “fundraisers” for questionable charities who block our entrance-way: Don’t make me ask the IRS to examine your 501(c)(3) status.
And to the beat cops who are regulars: Can I have your cell phone numbers?
Yep that’s me, maitre’d extraordinaire…and daytime bouncer.