We are a small restaurant (when compared to giants such as Applebee’s, Chili’s and Outback). Our maximum occupancy is somewhere just above 100. (Go and count how many people are at Red Lobster next time you’re there.)

That said, we remember a lot of faces. It’s easy when you only see 150 of them any given night. And regulars are even easier to remember. We have a limited menu and they usually order the same thing. It’s hell remembering John Smith for his name but if you ask me how many helpings of shrimp sauce that dude wants, I won’t even blink before I tell you “three”.

My co-worker, Sami, had a gentleman (and I use that term loosely) sitting all alone at one of our hibachi tables. He had applied to be a chef six months prior but had been rejected for two reasons:

1. He couldn’t cook to save his life.
2. He couldn’t do knife tricks to save his life.

He thought is was because:

1. He was black.

We’ve got three chefs: one guy from Ohio, one from Florida and a guy from Indonesia. I don’t think race had much to do with it.

Anyway, he came in with a chip on his shoulder and proceeded to order some of the most expensive stuff on the menu. When he was done, he ordered not one but two desserts. As Sami went into the back to prepare his desserts, he walked out of the restaurant without saying a word to anyone.

Let’s back up a minute. We have this dude’s current address on file, social security number, phone number and whatever it is interviewers collect from applicants.

Not only that, but he works as a cook at the restaurant right across the street.

So the next day, we call the police, tell them he skipped out on a sixty dollar bill and we get a check from him that week.

Of course there was no tip.

This entry was posted on Monday, April 30th, 2007 at 11:41 and is filed under Guys, Co-workers. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.