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Served: On Dishing

Posted by Hannah Howard, March 17, 2009 at 8:30 AM

I blog by day and wait tables in a New York City restaurant by night. I'm excited to bring you Served, dispatches from the front of the house. Enjoy!

"The restaurant biz has a disproportionately vast amount of dirt. Gossip flows like booze."

“That sucks! I’m sorry.” I told P.

The situation really did suck.

She turned around, looked me in the eye, and said sternly, “Don’t write about this.”

“I won’t,” I promised. So what happened? I will keep my word, despite the temptation to tell a juicy story.

Spilling my Beans

The other day at work, I sat at the bar folding napkins. My boss sat next to me, drinking a Meyer lemon soda.

“So you and Mr. Suit are dating?” he asked.

He caught me off guard. I had to think for a second. “No. Why?”

“I heard you wrote about it in last week’s column."

“Did you read it?”

“No.”

“Well. We’re not. But you should read it if you want to know what happened.”

And that was the last I heard from my boss about Mr. Suit.

Two hours later, A., my friend and fellow server, arrived at work. “We need to talk about your column,” he said by way of hello. Did we?

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked, many hours later, when there was finally a second to breathe.

To recap: Mr. Suit, a new regular and friend of my restaurant, had flirted hardcore with me. I was into him. I gave him my number. He didn't call.

"He came by at 2 a.m. the other night," A. reported. We close at 2. "I told him: 'If I give you a drink now, you'll never leave me alone at closing time again.' He said, 'You're right.'"

Basically, A. was surprised by how much I put myself out there with last week's crush confession. "It's a small world; Mr. Suit will probably read it," A. predicted. Turns out Mr. Suit is friends with some of our other regulars and knows a bunch of restaurant people. New York is a tiny world. I wouldn't bet on Mr. Suit reading the column starring him, but I wouldn't be surprised either.

The Exposé

On a job interview a few weeks ago, the interviewer looked at my resume and said, "Oh, you write Served."

"That's me," I sad, totally flattered that a bigwig chef read my stuff.

"So if we hire you, you're not going to tell all our secrets, right? Or are you?"

"Only if you want me to," I assured him.

"Just had to ask," he said, "It's dangerous hiring writers."

Danger indeed! The threat of the tell-all is always a scary one, but the restaurant biz has a disproportionately vast amount of dirt. Gossip flows like booze. There are thousands of secrets that aren't really secrets.

I try not to be too much of a gossip. That's not really what Served is about. Although sometimes, it happens. Once, I mentioned the name of a restaurant whose staff frequented my place after work. I promptly received an angry email from my boss. I removed the restaurant's name. I hadn't meant to reveal something confidential, but apparently I crossed a line. Now, I know better.

That's why I only refer to people by their initials. But P., A., and everyone else know who they are. My restaurant's a small place. So if you come there a lot, you probably know who they are, too.

I try hard to respect personal and business privacy. But what about my own privacy? Should I exercise more restraint? Maybe, but if Mr. Suit reads Served, so be it. It's honest. That, I can promise.

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