In my fifteen years in the restaurant industry, I have witnessed my fair share of entitled patrons. Nothing, however, prepared me for the night Meghan waltzed in and demanded special treatment by claiming an acquaintance with “the owner.” Her drink order was being taken by someone she didn’t even know.
The expression on her face when I eventually told her? Priceless.
I’m getting ahead of myself, though. I’ll begin at the beginning.
In the 1970s, my grandparents left Spain with little more than family recipes and a goal. They threw everything into a tiny eatery in a corner that had a hopeful and saffron scent.
By building on that basis, my parents transformed our modest restaurant into a mainstay in the community. Giving me the keys when they eventually made the decision to retire was like inheriting a promise and a legacy.
I had a vision of my own.
I maintained the ancient family portraits on the brick walls while updating the room with sleek lighting and cozy seating. I kept our specialties on the menu while updating it.
Above all, I created an internet presence that resulted in reservations being held for weeks. We rose to become one of the city’s most popular dining establishments in just three years.
I continued to work the floor even after we were successful.
I may be bussing tables, speaking with regulars, or personally greeting guests on Friday nights. No work is beneath you when you operate a restaurant, in my opinion.
There was complete chaos on that specific Friday before Christmas.
The kitchen is running at full capacity, every table is reserved, and the bar is three deep with people waiting for cancellations. A group of six women forced their way to the front as I was at the host stand assisting Madison, our regular hostess, in controlling the crowd.
Meghan, their ringleader, had the smile I’ve come to know—the entitled smile of someone who thinks they are exempt from the rules.
“Hello,” she said with a charm that she had cultivated. “Please, a table for six.”
Madison looked at her tablet. We have a packed schedule for tonight, so I apologize. You have a reservation, right?
Meghan’s hair was flipped. “The owner is a personal friend of mine, but we don’t have a reservation. We are among the privileged guests he always keeps tables open for.
Madison gave me a doubtful look. I took a step forward.
I answered courteously, “I manage our VIP arrangements.” “I don’t think we had someone in mind for tonight. With whose owner do you have a friendship?
She remained confident. “We have a long history together. You will disappoint him if you reject us.
By identifying myself as the owner, I could have put an end to this sham right there. But I refrained because of her arrogant confidence.
Although I didn’t want to make her look bad in front of her pals, I also wasn’t going to condone this behavior.
I apologize, but we have a full schedule for tonight. Maybe I could get your number and give you a call when something becomes available. I made an offer.
Her attitude abruptly altered at that point.
“Oh, really?” she exclaimed, loud enough for visitors in the vicinity to hear. Ladies, get a photo of this guy. When I speak with the owner, he will be cleaning the toilets. Have fun on your final shift.
As one of her pals took a picture with her phone, another added, “Goodbye to your minimum wage job!”
The other women snickered and gave me a pitying yet contemptuous glance. Other people were gazing uneasily, I noted.
That left me with three choices. Inform her that I am the owner and put an end to this bullshit, or gently but firmly request that they go, or just enjoy the moment.
I went with door number three.
I grinned broadly. “You know what? I’m sorry. You are entirely correct. It would be easier to make room for you. There is one unique table available. Additionally, your first three beers will be free to make up for any inconvenience.
Immediately, their opinions changed.
Without bothering to thank me, Meghan remarked, “That’s more like it.”
They were led to our VIP area by me. It had the house’s best view and was a private alcove.
I said nonchalantly, “We just need one credit card and ID to keep on file, standard procedure,” as they sat down and gushed about the comfortable seats and soft lighting. We’ll give them back before you depart.
Meghan gave her cards over without hesitation.
She bragged to her companions, who applauded, “Ladies, tonight’s on me.”
If only she were aware of what was about to happen.
***
I accepted their first drink orders and told them that their table will be given priority by our bartender. They were already snapping selfies for social media when I brought back six vibrant mixtures.
“Enjoy your first free round, ladies. We’re really busy tonight, so there might be a little wait, but I’ll check on your food orders soon.
Meghan, who was already enjoying her $24 specialty martini, answered, “No problem.” “We’re not rushing.”
I completed their first three rounds as promised. They were laughing and calling me over with finger clicks by then, and their volume was obviously increasing.
Meghan waved impatiently after half an hour had gone by without any appetizers.
“Hey, waiter! Where is our meal? This place has absurd service.
I smiled pityingly as I walked up. “I apologize for keeping you waiting. Let me immediately check on those orders. While you wait, would you want more drinks?
Before the appetizers arrived, they placed two additional orders. They were carefully chosen treats from our VIP menu.
They were unaware that our VIP tables entitle them to multiple forms of special attention.
I purposely left the pricing off of the classy menus I had supplied. For our affluent audience, who don’t often worry about such things, it was a subtle touch.
Our finest offers were the dishes I recommended. West coast oysters at $10 each, imported Japanese A5 Wagyu, Osetra caviar with handcrafted blinis, and white truffle risotto. Every suggestion was enthusiastically accepted.
While enjoying a piece of truffle risotto, one woman declared, “This is divine.”
Another said, “Let’s get another dozen oysters,” and Meghan gave a proud nod.
I began to doubt myself about the time of their fourth round of drinks. Was I going too far with this?
I figured these women might perhaps be unaware of the quality of what they were purchasing.
Then I came over with another bottle of champagne and heard what they were saying.
A woman nodded at me and murmured, “Can you imagine doing this for a living?” “I’d rather die than spend my life helping people.”
Another person said, “He’s kind of cute, but I could never date a waiter.” Far too much of a slacker.
Meghan chuckled. That’s why obtaining what you desire is so simple. These service providers are in dire need of tips.
My shame vanished for a moment. The lesson would go on.
When I got back, I poured the champagne with expert accuracy. “An additional twelve oysters for the table?”
Without hesitation, Meghan said, “Definitely.” “Let’s also sample that unique lobster dish you mentioned.”
They had eaten enough high-end food and beverages by midnight to rival a celebrity’s birthday celebration. They had treated me like furniture the entire evening. Nobody had ever inquired about my name.
When I eventually came with the leather portfolio with their bill—$4,200 including tax and gratuity—the restaurant was almost completely empty.
I put it quietly next to Meghan. “Anytime you’re prepared. No hurry at all.
She opened it in the middle of a laugh. Her face was devoid of color.
Meghan looked over the bill and stated, “There’s been a mistake.” “This isn’t possible.”
Exaggeratedly concerned, I looked at the check. “You’re entirely right. Let me take care of this right now.
The sum had increased to $4,320 by the time I got back.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Your eighth order of oysters was something I neglected to include. Each of the twelve parts costs $10.
Meghan’s horrified eyes grew wide. “Ten bucks for each oyster? That’s crazy!
I calmly answered, “In fact, ours are pretty affordable when compared to other establishments of this caliber.”
The women were clustered around, going over the itemized bill line by line in a panic. They looked at the free drinks and then totaled all the ostentatious things they had eaten without ever inquiring how much they had cost.
Meghan suddenly stood up at that point. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Obviously,” I answered. Then nonchalantly added, “I’ll keep your ID and card safe right here,” to ensure she knew she couldn’t just vanish.
She came back ten minutes later wearing new makeup that didn’t completely cover up her red eyes. Her approach had obviously changed.
“Listen,” she said in a charming tone. “To be honest, the food and service were subpar. We waited ages for our appetizers, and the drinks were weak.
Her buddies gave a practiced nod of agreement.
Meghan went on, “at the very least, you should cut this bill in half.” Even though I first said that tonight was my treat, my pals will help pay for it.
She played her last card when I didn’t answer right away. “Look, I’m friends with the owner personally. He would be appalled at the way we’ve been handled. I wanted to write a positive review for this establishment.
“I understand,” I muttered. “And who would be that owner?”
She yelled, “I don’t have to explain myself to a server,” before taking out her phone. “All right, these are the texts we exchanged earlier today.”
I took a quick look at the screen and saw that the contact name was just “Restaurant Owner” without a real name. The texts had no conversation history and were obviously recent.
I said plainly, “That’s not the owner’s number.”
She countered, “He has several phones for business.” “You obviously don’t have all of his contact details.”
The moment had arrived.
I took a business card out of my own wallet and set it next to her phone. It had the restaurant’s logo, my name, and my title as “Owner & Executive Chef.”
“My name is Peter. In 1973, my grandparents founded this eatery. It was expanded by my parents, and for the last seven years, I have been its only owner. I took a moment to process this. “You are the first person I have ever seen in my life.”
Meghan and her pals’ expressions were amazing.
Meghan stumbled, “But… but you were serving us all night.”
I said softly, “I work every position in my restaurant.” “From doing the dishes to welcoming visitors.” That’s how I uphold our standards.
She made a feeble argument, “This is entrapment.” “You deceived us.”
Did I recommend a food that you didn’t eagerly order? Did I make you buy more drinks? Have I ever claimed to be someone I’m not? I spoke at a level tone. “I just gave you exactly what you requested.”
In a whisper, one friend said, “We can’t pay this.”
I acknowledged that this was an awkward circumstance. However, I have two choices for you. I’ll call the police about the attempted service theft if you don’t pay the entire bill. Your decision.
As Meghan signed the credit card slip, tears were streaming down her face. To assist cover the damage, her companions dug through their purses and managed to scrape together a few hundred dollars in cash.
I returned her items and said, “Your ID and card.” “We appreciate you joining us for dinner tonight.”
I said, “One more thing,” as they padded to the door.
They looked completely defeated as they turned.
“Be sure they’re not serving your table the next time you claim to be pals with someone significant. Ladies, good night.
I knew they had learned a lesson far more precious than any dinner could have given them when the door closed behind them.