Editor’s Note: Bros… Go support Stef’s IndieGoGo for “Front of House,” an independently-produced series about the quirks of working in the service industry. It’s going to be awesome…
When you work in a restaurant, particularly one in midtown full of lawyers, finance people and marketing professionals – people who seemingly make the world go round – you hear some of the dumbest questions one could possible ask. And then you know why our economy is in the shitter. People people who ask these questions in a restaurant are making millions a year working for UBS.
I give you the nine dumbest questions you can ask in a restaurant.
Do you have a bathroom?
No. In a restaurant that clearly holds at least 100 people at a time, we kindly request you go shit and piss in the street as our establishment does not have a bathroom. I’ll give you some bev naps if you need, but that’ll cost extra.<
Do you serve food here?
No, we’re big fans of the movie The Little Mermaid actually. The forks on the table, or dingle hoppers as we like to call them, are for brushing your hair. We’re a hair salon! Surprise! Just ignore the plates, knives napkins and table clothes.
Is there a coat check? (when asked in July/August).
The light is off. There’s no one in there. It’s 95 degrees outside. But yeah, we brought someone in to stand around and make no money just in case someone like you came in and wanted to hang something up.
Can I get a reservation for 12:05?
Who makes appointments for such obscure times? Let’s stick to the basics. 00, 15, 30, 45. If you can’t show up here at 12 but can be here at 1205, you need better time management skills.
Can you tell me what’s on the menu?
Food? When I hostess, I get people who call and don’t seem to own a computer, smart phone or library card, and ask me to dictate the entire menu to them over the phone. I’m a hostess, not one of those operators used to translate calls from deaf people. It’s called Google.
Is the Sangia amazing?
Sex with a really hot guy is amazing. Sleeping late on Saturdays is amazing. Winning mega millions is amazing. It’s fucking Sangria. It’s fruit flavored wine. If your bar on “amazing” is that low that you’re even asking, then yeah, it’s probably amazing. Otherwise, it’s just Sangria.
Do you have a Blackberry/Samsung Galaxy charger?
Dude, this is a restaurant, not a fucking Best Buy. Do I look like I am on the Geek Squad
What should I get?
How the fuck should I know?! Do you like meat? Cheese? Pasta? Do you like gin? Vodka? Beer? I have known you exist for all of forty eight seconds. Why are you asking me what you should get? If it were up to me, I’d tell you to get a porter house for four that costs 200 bucks and three or four glasses of Johnny Walker Blue at $60 a pop, a bottle of wine that costs about $400 and then ten after dinner drinks, but seeing as I know nothing about you, how hungry you are, how drunk you want to get, your allergies, dislikes and monetary situation, I can’t really tell you what to get the second I walk up to take your order.
Can I get a side of olives?
Dude, if you’re eating cocktail olives as a snack, you might want to rethink your whole life’s existence. Order something off the menu like a normal human being and stop eating our garnishes. My barback is getting pissed that the entire jar of cocktail olives is being eaten by the guy who has been nursing one Blue Moon for an hour.