The Theater Is Happening In The Kitchen

(Our hotel regularly works with a theater group to offer a “crime drama dinner” to our guests. It’s a fancy, five-course dinner with a theater performance between courses. We always try our best to stick to the schedule the theater group gives us, to prevent any delays for the actors. The coordinator of the theater group storms into the back office and starts yelling.)

Maître D’: “Sorry, I’m aware that we’re two minutes late clearing the tables. Some people are still eating.”

Coordinator: “You people are too slow! We’re late! Everything is too late! I’ve never had to deal with wait staff this slow in my life!”

Maître D’: “As I said, madam, we’re trying our best, but we can’t just take the plates away from guests who are still enjoying their meals.”

Coordinator: “You’re so unprofessional! It’s unbelievable! How dare you do this to us?! We have a schedule! How stupid do you have to be not to be able to stick to a simple schedule?!”

(At this point, a colleague of mine tries to slip past her with empty plates he collected. She is blocking our entryway.)

Maître D’: “Madam, you’re in the way. We were on schedule, but we can’t force the guests to eat faster. So, we can either wait for them to finish and collect the plates, or you can continue the play while they are still eating.”

Coordinator: “No, we can’t! Nobody pays attention while eating! How unprofessional are you people?”

(We’re all getting a little annoyed. She’s walking up and down our back office, wildly gesticulating and yelling.)

Maître D’: “Could you please calm down a bit? The guests can hear you. And you’re still in the way of the servers. If you want all the plates out of the room, you have to wait until everyone is done eating. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Coordinator: “SERIOUSLY, HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT?!”

(She finally stops yelling and starts to hiss at my boss.)

Coordinator: “This is absolutely unacceptable. If you had started serving the main course a bit earlier, everyone would be done now!”

(She steps back and knocks into a colleague. The stack of plates they were carrying goes flying. Frantic sweeping ensues.)

Maître D’: “Madam, please, you reminded all of us that we’re not supposed to enter the room while the doors are closed, so we don’t disturb the performance. We were ready to serve the main course five minutes ahead of schedule. You opened the doors six minutes late; we took six minutes to serve everyone—“

Coordinator: “YES! YOU WERE TWELVE MINUTES TOO LATE! TWELVE WHOLE MINUTES, YOU IDIOT!”

Maître D’: “Don’t take that tone with me. We were perfectly on time—“

Coordinator: “I WON’T EVEN DISCUSS THIS WITH YOU! YOU ARE RUINING THIS PERFORMANCE! YOU ARE NOT EVEN ABLE TO GET FOOD TO A G**D*** TABLE ON TIME–“

(She’s still gesticulating wildly and nearly knocks over a tray of dirty wine glasses.)

Maître D’: “Madam, please leave this room. We’re working as fast as we can. You caused a six-minute delay, and I won’t force my wait staff to take food away from guests. There is nothing else I can say to you right now.”

(The coordinator stares at our Maître D’ for a few seconds before she stalks out of the room, still cursing us out under her breath. She turns around in the doorway and hisses:)

Coordinator: “See if I ever work with this sham of a hotel again!”