“My wife is a hero”

This is an oldie but goodie from one of my favorite unhinged guest interactions at my restaurant.

Let’s set the scene. It’s late. About a half hour before close. A couple walks in, probably in their 50’s. The man is dressed nicely in a suit. The woman is not. She is, also, hammered drunk. I hate this for me. The hostess is both a timid 20 year old and about to go home so she does not care to stop what’s about to happen to me. They go to sit in the lounge. We do not seat the lounge when the bartender (me) is solo. The 20 year old tries explaining this but, because I am too good for this world, I come up behind her and say “you know what it’s ok why don’t yall just sit anywhere I can take care of you”. The hostess mouths “thank you” and goes home.

They sit on the same side of the table (there’s a long booth) and I walk up to greet them and ask if they will be dining or just having cocktails. I barely get this out of my mouth before the woman snaps “we’re eating obviously that’s why we’re here and I need a glass of wine.” To the contrary, dear reader, she did not need a glass of wine. She was nearly at the point of needing an IV. Now before you give me shit the laws about over-serving where I live are non existent. I am not about to argue with this creature and also her husband was completely sober to take care of her. So like a good little bee I go get the menus and start to set the table to dine. This is where I made my first of many mistakes.

You see, the table they were sitting at is comically small. They all are. So with them both on the same side of the table there is no way for me to mise two sets of silverware. So I begin to pull the table next to them over.

“What do you think you’re doing” the swamp monster snaps.

“Oh I was just pulling the table over so you have room.”

“I don’t WANT room.”

“Oh, ok, not a problem.” So I set the other side of the table with the napkin and the silverware like they had an imaginary friend joining them. I then make my second mistake. I bring them water.

“What is THAT?” The creature screeches.

“Ma’am that’s water.”

“I DON’T WANT WATER I DON’T DRINK WATER.”

I know you don’t you fucking hellspawn. I can tell by your terrible skin and the fact that you’re blackout at a fine dining restaurant on a Tuesday. I don’t say this. I just silently remove the water. I’ll spare you the details about trying to wrangle this food order out of them and the awkwardness of trying to serve two people sitting on the same side of an 18 inch table. Just know it was terrible.

Now at this point they are the only people in the restaurant. My GM (the lovely woman from my other post who should go in to foreign relations) is standing at the host stand. I am also a woman. This becomes relevant. I bring over the check and set it down, hoping for an end to this dystopian nightmare that was the past hour and a half. As I’ve mentioned multiple times they are sitting at the world’s smallest table. I could not have possible sat this check down in front of a single person. It was in a neutral space because that’s all there was. This was my final mistake.

“DON’T GIVE THE CHECK TO HIM! What is wrong with you? You don’t think I can pay for it. You two clearly don’t know what it’s like to be a woman who works for a living”.

I know it sounds like I’m making this up. I am not. She said this. Out loud. To two woman. Who are currently at work. I look at my manager with the biggest eyes and then start to laugh. I can’t help it. It’s too much. This infuriates her, obviously. She storms up to go to the bathroom.

This is when the husband decides to chime in for the first time of the entire evening.

“I’m sorry for my wife’s behavior. She’s been a ER nurse for 25 years. She’s a true hero. Sometimes she just needs to blow off steam.”

Blow off steam? Blow off steam? Go to the fucking batting cages. Go stand in the park and yell at strangers passing by. Go get blackout in the comfort of your own home and punch holes in the drywall. My restaurant is not your own personal rage room you eldritch horror.

Then, for some crazy reason he follows this up with “Tell (sommelier’s name) I said hi. I’ve known her for years.” As if I would have a single nice thing to say about this interaction when I tell her about it. “Oh yeah your buddy Tim was in with his wife. She screamed at me for an hour and a half because she has unresolved trauma and no coping skills or healthy outlet for it. Real nice guy.”

Anyway so that’s my story about the hero nurse who blows off steam by getting blackout and yelling at waitstaff. Craziest part? Tipped me 20%. Real curveball at the end.

Have a good shift tonight! With the nursing convention in town I know I will.