One, Two, Three, Four, Send This Jerk Right Out The Door

I work in a restaurant. A woman called in yesterday to tell us her booking for four would be three. I tried to change her booking on the system, but it wouldn’t let me, so I just made a note to myself and told everyone else. This way, she’d get one of the smaller tables and we’d have the larger table free.

So, today, I come in and plan the tables. I stick her party at a nicer three-top, remembering her name and request. Her booking time rolls around, and she shows up with a group of four. She makes some fuss when my coworker says she is set for three.

Woman: “I called immediately after I changed it to change it back to four!”

That’s not the case; I would have been the one to pick up because I was next to the phone trying to fix the booking. It really isn’t a problem, though, because we actually have a four-top available, which we show her.

She loses it.

Woman: “I don’t like this table; it’s horrible! I booked for four! I can’t believe this!”

The thing is, even if I had planned her as a four, that’s the table she would have been assigned because we had earlier bookings take up the others. We close a section after a certain time and her booking fell after that time. My coworker offered our only other four-top, which was outside, and the weather was nice, but she didn’t like that, either. She wanted the nearby six-top — WTF? — but that was reserved for a party of six later. Her voice was getting loud and high and she was holding her face like she’s about to cry. Her kids stood there awkwardly, not sure if they were unhappy with the table or with their mother’s meltdown. My coworker looked like she was close to suggesting they went elsewhere.

I got the manager and took a quick break. I returned and was surprised to see that the group was still there and had accepted the table. The woman had to use the bathroom after her meltdown, and her kids and husband started laughing.

On her return, the atmosphere at the table turned VERY tense. The woman was apparently not happy she couldn’t choose more than one selection of an item when we only offer one with that dish. My manager had pointed to all the options on her menu and the rest had ordered in the correct way. They could have ordered different types and shared; that’s common. She hmphed and ughed but chose.

As my manager walked away, the daughter snapped at her mother, telling her to stop. They didn’t complain about anything else. They demanded some water after seeing that the six-top had been given nice fruit water. But the woman was uppity the whole time. She sneered at the manager as she left. The rest of her family was pleasant. It’s the first time I’ve seen a grown woman have such a loud and dramatic tantrum over something so trivial.