Customers

If my blog had an overall literary personality I would sum it up as a...

"Generally misanthropic, bitter, and ofttimes hateful treatise on restaurant work that is over saturated with adverbs, unnecessarily long vocabulary, fragments, misogyny and run-on sentences. It bears a curiously paradoxical nature in that restaurant work entails interacting with people often and daily, yet the writer seems unable to normally socialize with and/or like other people."

::deep breath::

The paradox, in short, is that a restaurant's lifeblood is a constant stream of paying customers, and yet I seem to hate customers. Especially vapid, entitled, gold-digging trophy wives who add zero value to society and whine at me over their aptly-named Platinum Blonde Martinis. I suppose they are a rather chesty carrot at the end of the stick to incentivize men to acquire material riches in life, whatever societal value that adds. And American culture in turn does a good job of teaching women they are worth little more than their boobs.

But I digress. Allow me to holster my angst-ridden, lovelorn sociology major.

It's just that, every time I get upset with a customer, I internalize it. It buds in to the beginnings of an embolism, and I lose a few minutes off my life as I smile through my teeth. It is not unlike The Machine in The Princess Bride. I'm convinced it won't be long before a Prince Humperdinck-like beast of a customer will come in, and in one fell swoop torture me in to a coma. The Six-Fingered Man will appear and scream "Not fifty years!" and my shouts of agony will echo throughout the synagogues of Long Island...

Wait, nope, nope, nope, let me try this again...

What I mean to say is, I don't deal well with customers who lack empathy for or understanding of the restaurant industry. I wouldn't presume to come in to your place of work and tell you how to do your job. But just because eating at a restaurant is universal human behavior suddenly everyone's an expert.

We are here to serve and create a nice experience for you. You are entitled to a reservation. We try our best to give you one at the time you request but this is not always possible. You are entitled to at least respectful and efficient service, food that is at least seasoned and cooked properly, and an atmosphere that is at least clean and hospitable. That's your skeleton Bill of Rights right there for you.

The problem is that very few people understand how difficult even the most basic restaurant services are to provide. The main obstacle lies in doing all of that, and more for hundreds of people in three hours. They seem to think were they in our shoes, they'd never make a mistake. That a trained chimp could do this flawlessly, and that a couple dollars thrown our way entitles them to be Yertle the Turtle. I know no one who reads this blog (because pretty much only my friends read this blog) would ever act like such a cretin in a restaurant. But for your viewing pleasure, for the betterment of mankind, here's a handy guide.

How to Handle Restaurant Cock-Ups by Eric Huang;

1) Attempt to remain calm. Getting mad may serve cathartic for the rest of your first-world problems (e.g. wife not going down on you since you got married, boss made you come in on a Saturday, your rec-league dodgeball team lost in the semis, etc.), but it is actually not very helpful. When you aren't bearing down on some poor new hire with your fangs out, they have more calm and wherewithal to fix your situation. That isn't to mean that you should tolerate indifference, instead...

2) Acknowledge and specify what the restaurant did wrong (e.g. this waitress is a huge bitch, this food is salty like my balls after a tournament in August, this food is about 20 minutes late to class and is getting an F, etc.). Perhaps deliver said message in a more respectful manner.

3) Speak to a manager or preferably an owner. Continue to remain calm. Smile if possible.

4) If the restaurant is worth any of its salt they will accordingly apologize, compensate you for your grievances and treat you with super-extra-fragilistic attention and care. If you are gracious throughout your complaining, they will feel even more terrible about their errors and try that much harder to fix them. You are a long-term investment for the restaurant. Losing the 8.5% profit margin on a steak is better than losing you ever coming back to the restaurant, and/or telling all your friends how horrible it was. Rarely is anger necessary to convey your disappointments.

5) If step four is ignored by the restaurant, calmly leave and never return. If you must Yelp, please wait at least a day for the anger to subside so that your review will be more helpful.

I could go on about the injustices I feel I have suffered at the hands of curmudgeonly geriatrics who use the negative gravity of their empty lives to siphon off what's left of my soul. I relish a good story of a particularly evil customer, it makes me feel like one of many victims unjustly oppressed by the public. But that's not what today is about. I'm going to turn over a new leaf. I'm going to appreciate the people that come through our door, purchase our goods and services, and allow my family to make a living by doing what we like to do.

Believe it or not there are many customers I actually do like. Not awkwardly smile and force myself through conversation with, but people I am happy to see come through the door. They aren't many in comparison to the amount of customers I dread seeing. If we look at the ratio that way, well... it's not very uplifting. But they do exist, I promise.

There's Howie, the Big Dog. My bartender's father might not really count as your typical customer, but all the same he's a very enjoyable person to talk to. He drinks like a gentleman, he can talk about things beyond the realm of usual guy talk (read: sports, boobs, beer), and he has these enormous, hammy mitts that firmly confer confidence through handshakes. He will at times find himself surrounded by all the females of his family and retreat to the bar to find me. His eyes will roll, he will plug his ears to mime shutting out the chatter, and he will request a glass of Gentleman Jack, neat. He always tips in fresh, crisp $5 bills. Where he gets them, why he has them, who knows.

There's Michael, Chocolatier of the Walrus Mustache. He provides the complimentary chocolates we have at the restaurant and will come in for dinner here and there. He also knows all about the restaurant biz having worked in pastry as a youth. We discuss kitchen ideas and general restaurant theory over a glass of Grey Goose, two ice cubes, and a twist of lemon. Any consternation I feel about culinary school he generally puts to rest. He's been working with us since I was just a kid and he likes to assure me that growing up in the restaurant business is more than ample preparation. "You should see some of the kids they send me... "

There's Mr. Miller, boyish good looks and goofball dad in one. He sneaks in early for a beer on Friday before the wife and kids latch on to his weekend. He'll order takeout for the family and watch Sportscenter while drinking a Tsing Tao. I generally appreciate anyone that is a Knicks fan but can still discuss them without Amar'e Stoudemire's dick in their mouth. We once had a conversation about the skyscraping display of flowers my mom puts at the front of the restaurant.

"How long do those things last? They're beautiful... I think?"
"Hah, about a week. Though they start looking a little sad by Wednesday, so we change them every Thursday."
"Yeah, I hear that. I always look a little sad by Wednesday..." Cue Charlie-Brown-shuffle out the door, womp womp womp trombone.

Then there's Julianna and her mother, Adrianne. Julianna is, for lack of a more couth description, a 100%, grade-A, Power M.I.L.F. Gracious, friendly but not overly-so, and elegant with a touch of soccer-mom, Sporty Spice vibe. How she manages to remain so picture-perfect after popping out five boys is beyond me. The woman's vagina might as well be Stargate but here she is in all her splendor. Her and her mother will take turns bringing the whole of their brood to the restaurant. Grandma Adrianne likes to take her time with her grandkids; eat slowly, spoil them with ice cream and cake when their mother isn't around. Julianna will often call as the dinner begins to inch past 2 hours,

"Hi Eric! This is Julianna. Where is my mother and my litter?"
"Hi Julianna! They're still here, looks like they're finishing up though, would you like to talk to her?"
"No, it's okay .. just remind her that they have camp in the morning, see you soon!"

I often find overprotective mothers serially annoying but her hovering is done with such charm and cuteness. Even a toe in the pool, a mere suggestion of flirting from her and I'm going for it. I would marry the shit out of her. Not that beautiful, white, suburban moms have adulterous fantasies about Asian boys in the linen closet. Not that I do either. Wait...

::ahem::

I always let Adrianne know that the Mama Bear is calling and I often get the same response,

"What is she so worried about? Right, like grandma didn't have any kids... we're going, we're going..."

These kinds of customers make working the restaurant a pleasure. They make me feel like I'm doing something worthwhile, connecting with other decent and interesting human beings. I don't doubt there is some kindness and zest to every person that comes in the door. It's just that people carry their personalities so differently, and I really take time to appreciate those that wear frustration and resentment on the inside, and compassion and warmth on the outside.

The other issue is, I don't always have the time to.

Nothing makes me feel worse than having someone I really like come through the door, but I don't even have time to have a brief conversation with them. My mother always prioritizes customers, stops everything she's doing to focus on them if they call her over. I'm sure this effort is not lost on them. But that doesn't mean that when my mother stops there isn't a whole shitload of traffic piling up behind her. My job is to make that traffic move along. There are still a lot of things to do. I'm just trying to give as many people a quality experience as possible. I look at it as if I can make the whole night go smoothly, zero complaints, generally happy faces on the way out; huge success. She sees it as if she can give a few tables the best Chinese meal of their life, an experience they'll never forget, that's a huge success. I guess it's big picture vs. small picture. You need to have both in perspective and balance. She really goes the extra mile for some people and she is rewarded with their loyalty. Loyalty that has spanned, in many cases, almost 30 years. But there are new customers every day, and they must be won over as well. We can't solely focus on a handful of VIPs, we must continue to grow.

So I am well aware that I come off cold at times. I'm trying to be as efficient as possible, no funny business, no favoritism. A lot of hosts will prefer guests to linger at the bar, buy drinks, tip the bartender, bring in more cash. But I don't fuck around with this. From what I know of Long Islanders and our clientele, they don't like to hang around the bar boozing. They want to sit down and have their drinks there in comfort. I think the happiness derived from being able to sit down and be tended to will eventually reflect in the tip, and then back to the bartender when the waiters tip them out later. A trickle-down theory that actually works, I suppose.

This is probably why I belong in the back of the house. I'm a kitchen girl really. My stringent efficiency is better applied to venison shanks than living people. But you can't deny the results of my egalitarian governance. People rarely have to wait more than 10 minutes for their table to be ready, I almost always can accommodate a walk-in, waiters get more tables, make more money, people complain less. I think there are a lot of benefits to my method, even if it might feel like you're getting processed at some points. If my work seems mechanical, I rely on my mother to make it seem intimate and personal. It usually works out, makes people feel cared for in our own special way and as a result our dining room has that distinct personality; the young guy puts you through the motions, makes your experience technically sound and if you ever need more of that human element, the maternal figure steps in to make it right.

Every dining room has a personality. Now may be the era of the celebrity chef, the herds of hispter-foodie-sheep flocking to the next hot name so they can be the first to Yelp about them and say "We ate there when.." But in the past, it was the maitre'd who owned the floor. They were the ones who set the pace and tone, and they were the ones whose names were synonymous with the restaurant. They were the person you had to know to get in. Relevant: Bonus Reading.

Whereas now it would be a rare thing to see the eponymous celebrity chef working at his own restaurant, there was a time when you would show up and the same person would be the gatekeeper night after night. You'd have to know them, know someone, be a "member" to be let in. The exclusivity just heightened the sense of belonging and prestige I suppose. But you can't really say "Fuck you, go home" to people anymore. The economy won't allow it. The public has decided they prefer a democratic dining process to some members-only private club. But there was a time when that was the norm, and for better or worse it gave each restaurant a certain degree of panache, a definite and tangible personality from the moment you walked in the door, and it often emanated from one person.

But let's face it, and it is an unsavory truth to accept, but there is such a thing as favoritism and there are customers who we like more than others. Almost every restaurant behaves this way. It sounds unfair but if you have people who eat at your restaurant 3-4x a week, how can you not reward someone for such loyal and frequent patronage? You have to dote on your core of regulars. Sure, they each have their own sets of idiosyncrasies and requirements, but the fact of the matter is, they are the backbone of your restaurant. It's not even the money they put in, it's the word of mouth advertising, it's the powerful marketing they present simply by vouching for you as the best Chinese restaurant on the North Shore. And just as my mother and I give the dining room a personality, so do these regulars paint a certain color over the floor. They talk about you at their country clubs, golf outings, doctors' visits and the next thing you know have a veined network of connections worming its way through the area back to you. So whether we like to or not (we usually do), we treat them very well and they get priority on damn near everything.

That was a harsh lesson to learn this year. Favoritism seemed unfair to everyone else. I demanded we treat everyone equally regardless of their standing with us. I would be furious when I had turned down some people 15 minutes ago, only to have my mother sneak in some VIP behind my back and take up one of my last tables. She would tell me, "You have to give him a table, figure it out." Not only had she fucked up my entire seating chart but I don't give a fuck about Mr. and Mrs. Whoever, they should have to wait like everyone else.

But I was being naive. I came to realize, that Mr. and Mrs. Whoever did indeed have to be given preferential treatment. It was up to you, the host to recognize them, surreptitiously sneak them in and give them the gold standard treatment they come for, or they'll simply go someplace else. And from the suburban restaurant standpoint, that is unacceptable.

So what makes a VIP customer? Well, as previously mentioned it could be that they just come a whole bunch and are important sources of revenue and advertisement. It could be they are just good friends with my mom, she's acquired quite a few of those over 30 years of business. It could be they booked a big party for my mom, sent a friend her way. That's probably the quickest way to her heart. They could be important people; judges, doctors, certain business owners, professional athletes, there are many reasons. If the more plebeian customers notice, they get upset. Should they? No, we don't give out these small favors lightly. But will they feel offended anyhow? Yes, and there's little we can do about it except try our best to make everybody feel special, to feel cared for.

As frustrated as I am with people I am trying and beginning to understand. To not have my first reaction be stubbornness and resentment, and instead have it be compassion and understanding. It is an infinite test of patience, I am not perfect. But I am finding that there is more reward in winning someone's appreciation than winning them over to your point of view.

I get it, you've never worked in the restaurant business. How could you know how difficult reserving tables can be? You can't and I shouldn't expect you to. Is it frustrating? Yes, very much so, but I must be the ever-patient, ever-compassionate 1950s housewife. Do you mistreat me, abuse me? Yes, but smile, do your duty and keep it together. You know, for the kids. Instead of telling customers, "You're twenty minutes late, I had to give away your table" I only say, "Glad you could make it! Give me a moment to get your table ready." In truth, I did give it away but I always have a contingency plan for such situations. When they come early, offer them drinks, make it personally if you can. Comp them if things get hairy. Get them as comfortable as possible, update them often and specifically about their table, especially if it's their table. It's annoying when people request specific tables, as that's the most difficult thing to keep available throughout the night but .. what can you do? Maybe the table has special significance to them, maybe they had such a great night last time they're trying to recreate the magic? Who am I to tell them no?

Alright, you don't want to sit in the back room. To be honest, I get it. You want to be where the action is. Unless you really like privacy and quiet, it feels better to be part of the main dining room. There's energy, vibrancy, it makes you really feel like you went out on a Saturday night. No matter what we do, no matter how good the service was, being in the back room will always feel like you were pushed aside a bit . Some people relish that, being forgotten in some corner to be alone with their friends. But most people want to be part of the show, and I understand that. People-watching is a sport for some, after all.

Hmmm, you don't want the banquette table, eh? My gut reaction is that you're being selfish. You want a bigger table and drive down my space efficiency because of an insignificant degree of comfort. You're being annoying. But in truth, I see why the banquette can be uncomfortable. It's very intimate, you're forced to stare in to each others' eyes. If this isn't a date, that's not the ideal situation. The table is smaller, they're packed closer together, you're well-within earshot of your neighbors. People often strike up conversations across tables. I would hate that, socially awkward panda that I am. I prefer my conversation to be private, the chance for interruption minimal. If I feel that way, I'm sure many other people do to. I just wouldn't have the balls to complain about it, and you do. Who's the big man now?

So I'm beginning to understand you. I'm beginning to understand how you work as a group, and how you work as individuals. I'm beginning to empathize with your situation. I am not different from you because I'm wearing a suit and telling you where to go. Not everything is just business, and even when it is, that's a much more flexible and personal thing than it first appears. And it has to be if we ever plan to succeed in the restaurant industry, where we must constantly adjust our business model to fit the people we serve. So we learn, and we accept it. Accept that we are all human and that we all like a little eye contact, understanding, empathy, compassion and warmth. That a monetary transaction doesn't change those emotions so long as they are delivered with authenticity. So really being in the front is an exercise of sincerity. And it's pretty hard to fake being sincere about your work if you aren't.

In the words of Dr. Manhattan,

"I can change almost anything... but I can't change human nature."

So I should stop being so inflexible. Everybody's different. But most everybody likes to be treated kindly. And if they're going to pay for it, well I suppose they deserve it now, don't they?

G.I. JOOOOEEEE!!

EP6

PS - My last sentences sounded so goddamn Public Service Announcement, it was the first thing that came to mind. What kind of pussy am I becoming? What kind of man are you turning me in to? Damn you, JULIAANNNAAAAA!!