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Okay, this is a fairly minor one, but . . . still.
So I'm a hostess. I lead people to tables.
This one day, I was leading this one party of five to a table. And--I can't remember if the table wasn't actually wiped off or if they just liked the look of the booth better (given that we generally check that table each time before we seat it (since employees tend to eat there and aren't always good about cleaning up), I'm given to believe it's the latter), but a minute or so later we're all standing in the middle of E's section, debating the finer points of this table versus this booth.
The booth--well, it's a booth! Everyone loves booths! But it only seats four people. On the other hand, three of their crew are children, and the table is, well . . . a table. The manager has told me to seat customers wherever they like, and they decide fairly quickly that they'd rather sit in the booth, despite size limitations. "It should be easier to herd the kids that way," the mother explains.
Sure. I grin and give them the shpiel, and they all herd in. Two kids on one side, two adults and a kid on the other . . . not sure why they didn't put all the kids on the same size, since they're smaller and would most likely fit better that way. But that's the way they want it, so that's the way they get it.
Fast forward about, oh, five to ten minutes. I notice the man getting up and pulling a chair from the table I'd suggested, so he can sit on the end of the booth. That's good, right? Everyone's got enough room now!
. . . except the isle's kind of narrow. That's a fire hazard.
After getting a quick consensus from the other hosts (. . . well, host; the other one was training), I run over and tell the guy he can't do that. Fire hazard. (I get a manager's second on this as soon as I see one, about a minute later). He pouts and says that he thought I was supposed to let him sit wherever he wants. I say yes, but there's a safety issue with this. I can move him to the table if he wants more space, though. He moves back to the booth in a surly manner, and I take the chair back. I feel bad, since I've probably reduced E's tip fairly a lot by this point . . . but safety is safety, and honestly, she wouldn't have much room to carry trays around like that anyway.
Another one of the hosts asks him if he wants to move a minute later, probably thinking along the same lines I did. He tells her that he's NOT moving again. It's sort of funny, since he's now been offered a more comfortable spot THREE times (admittedly, the first time he only had my word that the booth only sat four)--but I also feel bad for E. Sigh.
But you know what the funny thing is?
Twenty minutes later, I'm bussing a table and pass by . . . and what do you know, he's sitting at the table that can seat his entire family. Booth or not, I'll bet he's WAY more comfortable. Happy ending!
Here's a lesson: Listen to the hosts. They know what's what. Moreover, being able to admit you were wrong will save you a lot of squishiness in the end.
So I'm a hostess. I lead people to tables.
This one day, I was leading this one party of five to a table. And--I can't remember if the table wasn't actually wiped off or if they just liked the look of the booth better (given that we generally check that table each time before we seat it (since employees tend to eat there and aren't always good about cleaning up), I'm given to believe it's the latter), but a minute or so later we're all standing in the middle of E's section, debating the finer points of this table versus this booth.
The booth--well, it's a booth! Everyone loves booths! But it only seats four people. On the other hand, three of their crew are children, and the table is, well . . . a table. The manager has told me to seat customers wherever they like, and they decide fairly quickly that they'd rather sit in the booth, despite size limitations. "It should be easier to herd the kids that way," the mother explains.
Sure. I grin and give them the shpiel, and they all herd in. Two kids on one side, two adults and a kid on the other . . . not sure why they didn't put all the kids on the same size, since they're smaller and would most likely fit better that way. But that's the way they want it, so that's the way they get it.
Fast forward about, oh, five to ten minutes. I notice the man getting up and pulling a chair from the table I'd suggested, so he can sit on the end of the booth. That's good, right? Everyone's got enough room now!
. . . except the isle's kind of narrow. That's a fire hazard.
After getting a quick consensus from the other hosts (. . . well, host; the other one was training), I run over and tell the guy he can't do that. Fire hazard. (I get a manager's second on this as soon as I see one, about a minute later). He pouts and says that he thought I was supposed to let him sit wherever he wants. I say yes, but there's a safety issue with this. I can move him to the table if he wants more space, though. He moves back to the booth in a surly manner, and I take the chair back. I feel bad, since I've probably reduced E's tip fairly a lot by this point . . . but safety is safety, and honestly, she wouldn't have much room to carry trays around like that anyway.
Another one of the hosts asks him if he wants to move a minute later, probably thinking along the same lines I did. He tells her that he's NOT moving again. It's sort of funny, since he's now been offered a more comfortable spot THREE times (admittedly, the first time he only had my word that the booth only sat four)--but I also feel bad for E. Sigh.
But you know what the funny thing is?
Twenty minutes later, I'm bussing a table and pass by . . . and what do you know, he's sitting at the table that can seat his entire family. Booth or not, I'll bet he's WAY more comfortable. Happy ending!
Here's a lesson: Listen to the hosts. They know what's what. Moreover, being able to admit you were wrong will save you a lot of squishiness in the end.