Table for None?

I had customers leave because we were out of what the gentleman wanted.

This rarely happens in our business (the leaving part that is), but it does occasionally.

The only thing blog-worthy about it is the fact I umm... "totally helped them" make that decision, heh heh...

I open their bottle of wine, he tastes and approves, I pour hers then top him off. The lady then orders her meal, and the man orders our Ribeye steak. A fantastic choice (!) which I do highly recommend, but unfortunately "I'm sorry sir, we've run out of the Ribeyes tonight. About an hour ago actually, I'm sorry."

Normally, this is where the spin-doctoring begins for me. Most nights, I'd quite enthusiatically suggest an alternative or two that he might like, or I'd offer him a few more minutes with the menu. To soften the blow I might tell them the reason we're out - if there is a good one - like a supply or delivery issue beyond the restaurant's control. Anything just to keep the conversation flowing (on my terms) and to keep those butts in the seat and dollars coming into my and the restaurant's bank account.

But the look on this guy's face said it all. He wasn't having it.

There were other mitigating circumstances I suppose I should tell you. They were my last table of the evening, and seated at a point where my prior tables were at least halfway done. I wasn't closing tonight, so basically I'd get to leave right around whatever time my last table does. Also, I open the next morning, meaning I have to be here early, no matter how late I stay tonight.

Did I mention that they were English? Yeah... tourists from the U.K. So, if you're a long-time reader, well "You know how we feel about the English" now don't you?

As tippers I mean, not as people of course. There's a high probability that they'll be tipping 10%, and on that $34 bottle of wine they'd ordered so far, that'd be $3.40. But wait, we tip out 7% of our alcohol sales to the bar remember? So $34 times 7% is $2.38. If they round down, this leaves me looking at a $3 tip that I'm going to have to tip out $2 on. So, unless they really, really surprise me with a fantastic tip overall, I'm basically getting the feeling of working for free here, and staying at least an hour longer - while they finish their wine, then their espressos - on a night where I have to turn around and get right back up and come back in.

It happened just earlier this week in fact - an English couple that came in late, ordered a bottle of wine, and then another bottle right when their meal was almost done. It didn't bother me, because 99 times out of 100, I'm appreciative of the high sales, and generally optimistic about the (admittedly minuscule) chances of getting a good tip from the UK-ers, and could generally care less if I get a bad one - that's the business and I know it. In this case, the manager himself asked me at one point "Do they realize they're the only people left in the building?" Whether they did or didn't know, they weren't going to hear it from me, or feel pressured in any way.

You people know me by now, right? Like I said 99 times out of 100, I'm here for the guests' needs first, the restaurant's needs second, and full of faith and optimism enough to know that if I focus on those things, my needs work out fine. Ask any cook here, or my former job - Cattle Baron in Roswell - and they'll tell you "Guy takes the late tables." I've fought with enough cooks about waiting on people who show up 5 minutes before or even 5 minutes after we close to know that my record of congeniality speaks for itself.

But tonight, the perfect storm of variables meets up, and this guy got to be my "one in a hundred." Seriously, this guy was over 6 feet tall and maybe 230 pounds by the way. He wanted our 20 ounce (including the bone) Ribeye, and the only place I had to go from there - beef-wise - was an 8 ounce Filet. Knowing this, what were our chances, really, of making this guy happy? Maybe talk him into ordering two Filet Mignons? Not likely.

So with all the back-story in mind, here's what I really said, opposed the more congenial spin-doctoring I might usually employ to keep them around. I flip my usual formula a bit, and decide to go with what's best for the guest's needs - and coincidentally MY needs as well - and let the restaurant take the hit, just this once.

From the top :

"I serve their bottle of wine, the lady orders her meal, and the man orders our Ribeye steak. A fantastic choice which I do highly recommend, but unfortunately "I'm sorry sir, we've run out of the Ribeyes tonight. About an hour ago actually, I'm sorry.""

The perfect storm meets the look on his face, and I take my next cue from him.

"That's apparently a deal-breaker, huh?" I say.

"It is," he replies. "I'm outta here."

His wife sighs.

He and I both know what we want to happen. All that's needed now is making it okay with her.

"It's okay, I completely understand" I say, reaching for their wine bottle. "I'm a steak eater too. If you had your heart set on a 20 ounce Ribeye I don't think our 8 ounce Filet will do it for you." I re-seal the wine, saying "I'll get this taken off your check" (I already know we sell this one by the glass, so the restaurant won't actually lose money on this scenario - we'll just re-sell what's left. My conscience is totally clear on this. If it were a "reserve wine" that we only sell by the bottle, I probably would have at least offered the Filet. Really.).

He asks "Where else can I get a good steak around here?"

Well, since he asked, professional courtesy demands that I point right across the way to Capital Grille. "They're known for the best steaks around."

They don't even have to drive to get there. I'm okay with it, he's okay with it, and she's ... not objecting. Time to close this deal.

"They can be tough to get into sometimes if you don't have a reservation. There's also Ruth's Chris, Morton's, and a Flemming's all on Sand Lake Drive." I give him easy to follow directions just in case they need them, and they go on their merry way, and everyone involved is happy.

I take the wine to Joon at the bar, and tell her simply "They left because we're 86 Ribeyes. He tasted this one (as I put that glass in the dirty dish area of the service bar) "... and she didn't drink out of this one." What Joon does with that glass is - not my business. I've got plenty of bartending under my belt, and I know good and well what Id've done, but it's not my call. She's got half a a bottle she can re-sell tho.

I later tell Harry (the manager) the same thing and he voids the wine off of the check. Can't win 'em all. I polish and roll some silver, and clock out comparatively early, compared to my norm. I'm consoled this morning by getting up early enough for coffee and brief conversation with the Doxy Lady, and I'm still the first waiter to clock in, at a cool 10:25am.

Yeh, my conscience is clear. Altho as I'm sipping my coffee, a slight smile spreads across my lips, as I can almost hear the echo. Last night, somewhere in Orlando, some waiter was cursing my name outloud as he gets sat a 2-top from Europe 5 minutes before his restaurant closed. Oh well, sucks to be you.

Cheers mate.