Bastards in our Restaurant

Oh my, did I just say that!!??

I suppose I did, and I’m not ashamed to say that I have good reason for spewing that epithet, which tonight, comes from the bottom of my soul. I’ve learned a lot these past 18 months of living life Riverside, but first and foremost, I’ve learned that owning, running, working in and paying for a restaurant is not for the faint of heart. I’ve already got my eye on a second career – no, not life coach – restaurant consultant. I can make millions, and save my collective consulters billions. I’ll charge a flat rate of $1000 per hour; granted, that’s a pretty heady fee, but all it’ll take is one hour, and one thousand of your dollars, to personally save you millions by giving you 100+ solid gold reasons why, as a novice in the industry, (as was I) you’d be a screaming idiot to invest your time, money, blood, sweat and tears in a restaurant.

Before I go off half-cocked, I have to say that the opportunity exists for the experienced restaurateur to make a fine living, and if your skin is thick enough, you can also get some major job satisfaction out of seeing most of your customers swoon with desire as they sup your soup and swill your sauvignon, while you ignore the petty complaints from the bastards who have no clue of what’s involved in serving a well-presented, hot plate of good food in a timely manner. I also have to admit that it can be a bit of an ego booster when the dining experience is a positive one in that people tend to treat you like a rock star – maybe a second rate rock star, but a rock star nonetheless - as they all but applaud as you walk by their table . Thanks to our talented chef and dedicated staff, I can say that the urge to applaud our efforts is, in fact, way more often the case than not. I can even break it down further and say that 90% of our diners go out of their way to say things like “best meal I’ve ever had”, “can’t believe there’s a restaurant like this in such an out of the way place”, “ better than any meal I’ve had in Denver”, etc. Of the remaining 10%, 8% are simply satisfied, not willing to gush forth with professions of gustatory euphoria, but neither were they unhappy with their dining experience. It is that final 2% that has earned the distinction of being politely referred to as “bastards”.

I’m not saying for a second that we don’t occasionally screw things up. Orders get mixed up, wait times can be excessive on busy weekend nights, some dishes just don’t click with some people – we’re only human, which automatically makes us less than perfect. When these slip-ups happen, we go out of our way to make it as right as we can. I’ve never charged anyone for food that they felt wasn’t up to par. I’ve ‘comp-ed’ many a dessert or appetizer when the food wasn’t delivered in a timely fashion – timely being defined by the customer, not by us. And pretty much in all of these aforementioned incidents of dining room malfeasance, the customers couldn’t be nicer and more understanding. They seem to get the “we’re dealing with human beings here” thing.

Now I’ll go off half-cocked. I can literally count on one hand the incidents that we’ve had with diners who fall into the “bastards” category. These are people that are either so demanding, so small, so particular, or probably so generally unhappy with life and with themselves that nothing they encounter in this world satisfies them. We didn’t get them their meal fast enough, their water often enough, their bread hot enough or their food tasty enough – no matter that all of the aforementioned were delivered in the same fashion to the 50 other extremely satisfied diners that same evening. My guess is that these 2% bastards get pissed of at the grocery store, the gas station, the post office, the drivers license bureau (wait a minute….I’ve gotten pissed off at the drivers license bureau), and every other place or situation where they have to rely on or interact with human beings who are required to give them service.

So we’ve established the fact that there are those amongst us for whom no level of service is acceptable; they simply can’t be satisfied. I should accept this and move on down the road when I encounter one of these bastards. But unfortunately, my innate desire to please is scorched to the core when I’m unable to make everyone happy. I’ve never been moved to write a diatribe such as this based upon the 98% of the people that I do satisfy – it’s the 2% that I don’t (can’t) that eats at my craw and moves me to blogemote (a new verb!).


Maybe I should rethink the restaurant consultant thing. Instead, I say to you prospective restaurateurs, you can make a good living in the restaurant business, and you can also derive an immense amount of personal satisfaction from your job if you simply dedicate yourself to pleasing your customers and attending to their well being.

Just don’t let the bastards grind you down!