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Served: Reservations or Lack Thereof

Posted by Hannah Howard, March 24, 2009 at 9:15 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 story is all too familiar. I had made us reservations for 8 p.m.; we arrived prompt and hungry. The door was glutted with people waiting for a table. A team of hostesses looked impressively unruffled by the clamor. “We’ll show you to your table in a moment,” a chipper blonde promised us. So we finagled a little plot of space by the host stand and waited.

The moments turned to minutes. Ten or 15 of them passed before I asked, “Is our table ready? Should we get a drink or something?” The bar, of course, was equally packed.

“If you want,” she said, “But your table will be ready in a moment." She turned away to talk to someone else. What did "in a moment" mean? Not much, it seemed.

My friend went to the bathroom and returned optimistic. “Looks like lots of people are finishing up! There’s a bunch of empty plates.” Twenty-five minutes later, my stomach growling, we were shown to a table.

Door Etiquette

I’ve been a hostess before, at busy spots, on many a busy night. I get it: Shit happens. A group might rush to order, scarf their meal, pay their check, and then surprise everyone by lingering at the table for an hour. An unexpected visit from a celebrity, an investor, or a friend might mess up the plan for the evening (although the wise maître d' will be prepared for such an incident to go down, as they often do).

Glitches can seep into even the most meticulously planned reservation book. Sometimes, a blameless party will have to wait for the table they reserved. Nobody wants this—not the diner, and certainly not the restaurant. But it happens.

In my hostess days, if a party came in and it was clear it would be a while before we could honor their reservation, I would let them know. I would apologize. If it was going to be a while, I would buy them a drink. Transparency is nice. Nobody likes being lied to. I would have appreciated an apology, or at least an acknowledgment that we would be waiting for awhile.

No Reservations

My little wine bar of a restaurant doesn’t take reservations. We’re too small and casual for such a system to work, and it sort of goes against the wine bar spirit. But that doesn’t stop people from trying. They call all the time, ready to reserve a table for four on such and such a time on Tuesday.

When I let them know, ever so sweetly, that we don’t take reservations, they try (with the best intentions, I’m sure!) to comb me for info. What is the wait, usually, for four at nine PM on Tuesday? My answer always disappoints them. There is no usually! I am no psychic! I really, really do not know. Sometimes on a nine PM on a Tuesday they might be able to slide right in; other times, they might have to wait for an hour or more.

Everyone who has worked at a restaurant understands the deeply mysterious ways of crowdedness. Sure, there are patterns. Some places can count on a pre- or post-theater rush, or an after-work hit, or a hopping brunch. But even these rules are wracked with exceptions.

My place seems to follow even more bizarre and ever-changing patterns. We are usually packed all night on Fridays. Last Friday, the place was weirdly quiet until about 10, and then unrelentingly crazy until we closed at 2 AM. A week before that, we were rocking until about midnight, and then the place cleared out suddenly and totally.

Be Nice, Please

After being open for two years, we’ve managed to figure out systems to manage the chaos that is our busy door. We only seat complete parties. Tables are reserved for diners; those who are only drinking are asked to sit at the bar. These things seem fair and help us fill the restaurant democratically and efficiently.

There are exceptions, of course. Last night, a few minutes after we opened, a couple came in. They were waiting for a third to join them for dinner. I explained that they were welcome to wait at the bar where they could start drinking or even eating. When their number three showed, they could move to a table.

This did not sit well with the woman, who launched into a furious surge of accusations. This was unfair, cruel, inhospitable, etc. I tried to meet her anger with niceness, but it was impossible to get a word in edgewise.

“Listen,” I said, when she finally finished her rant. “We’re empty right now, so you guys can get started at a table. Just realize that this is an exception to our policy, and during a busier time we might ask you to wait. Please, right this way.”

“Oh, great,” she said, unenthusiastically. She was certainly expecting me to put up more of a fight. She seemed almost disappointed.

In a Perfect World

It is the responsibility of restaurant employees and guests to be cordial to each other. Perhaps even friendly. And honest. I did what I could to appease the nasty woman. If she had been a tad nicer, she would have still gotten what she wanted and I would have felt less abused.

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