The Inspector

An elegant senior citizen had lunch with her brother and told me she used to own a lingerie store a few blocks away but was now retired and living in another state. I had heard of how classy her shop was and looked forward to serving a discerning diner. She ordered one of our house wines, which we bring to the table in an individual carafe, pour a taste for the customer to try and then pour the rest into his wine glass upon his approval.. This customer told me if we don't bring the wine bottle to the table the customer may think we've done a bait and switch (that's why you smell and taste first, lady) and why don't we fill the glass all the way. 'Cause it ain't orange juice, that's why.

Lover Boy

One of the chefs we hired was newly divorced, a real horndog, and a serial lover. After one particular amorous night, he called Maria and left a message on her voicemail telling her how much he had enjoyed the previous evening and he hoped they could do it again soon. "Maria" returned his call and said, "I'm glad you enjoyed it but I wasn't there". Click. He told me he has so many numbers for various Marias stored in his phone that he must have called the wrong one and could no longer remember who was the right one.

Dirty Linen

The same week the bum broke in and played piano, drinking Jack Daniels, we had more excitement focused on our linen bin. Our linen is picked up and new linens delivered once a week. The driver left me a note saying he didn't take the dirty linen as it wasn't bagged and please make sure it's in bags next week. I yell at staff asking who didn't bag the now moldy linens and they all assure me they're not guilty. As they're re-bagging soiled napkins with disposable gloves on, they excitedly call me over and show me a...GUN!...and...a clip of bullets that had been tossed into our linen bin, which we keep outside. Of all the places to dump a gun!

Party of One

Last week, one day when we were closed, we got a call from our alarm company about 8:30 at night, saying our alarm was going off at the restaurant. My husband and I both went to the restaurant and everything was locked. Three hours later, the alarm company calls again and says the alarm is going off again. I'm already in bed and ask my husband to please check it out. He goes to the restaurant, enters through the back door, and sees someone in the dining room seated at the piano, with a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels on top of the piano. After being somewhat sure that the intruder is not packing, my husband walks over to him and says, "What the f* are you doing here?" The bum replies that he owns the place. My husband takes a picture of him with his cell phone and calls the police. After the police fill out their report, they hand the bottle of Jack back to my husband. He said he couldn't serve it and gave it back to the cops. Before they put the intruder in the police car, they sprayed him with disinfectant.
Gives a new meaning to Happy Hour.

Intro

I own a restaurant in a mid-size city that's one hour from a very large city. Both shall remain nameless as well as the name of the restaurant since my goal in writing this blog is to save on therapy. I want to rant and rail and do it anonymously as a way to relieve pressure. If you've ever fantasized about owning a restaurant, I can give you a complete report from the trenches.