She must not’ve realized how petty I am. She must not’ve been aware of the fact that if she does something I tell her she cannot do, then yes, I am not above going to her and standing in front of her and telling her that she cannot do what she just did, even though I told her she cannot do it, and then make her undo the thing she just did. I am just that petty. Other restaurant guys might not be, but this restaurant guy sure is.

If I tell someone there’s a short wait and if that someone then wants to know what’s with all those open tables over there and if I then say those tables are reserved, that’s what the little folded-over Reserved signs are for, but then if the lady goes over and sits at one of the reserved tables anyway? Just helps herself? Dollars to donuts I am petty enough to stand in front of her (and her two embarrassed friends) and tell her so all can hear there’s no way in hell she’s getting that table so she better waddle her ass back to the front and wait with the rest of ‘em. She must’ve thought I wouldn’t do that.

(I didn’t use the word waddle and I didn’t use the word ass. But all involved knew I was thinking of those words. Those words were on my mind.)

Then you know what she tried to pull? I can’t believe she tried to pull what she then tried to pull. The old ‘You don’t take reservations’ routine. Can you believe she tried to pull that? I sure can’t. I said, ‘Yes we do take reservations. We love reservations. Next time, call and we’ll hold a table for you. But tonight, you’re gonna hafta wait a half hour, easy. Prolly closer to forty-five, but I’ll get you seated just as soon’s I can.’

(I can practically drop-dead guarantee you that if a place has tables, if it’s not fast food, a beef stand, a dog stand, a taco stand or some corner tavern, it will take reservations. You might not need it, you might feel a little silly in retrospect, when you go in and it’s only you and one other table so the reservation was hardly recommended much less required, but the place will take your reservation when you make it. I can practically drop-dead guarantee it.)

I folded my arms and waited for her to get up and move. I even grabbed the menus that she grabbed from the podium. It took a while to sink in, just how petty I am. She didn’t wanna accept the kinda ... 

(Seriously. Even if the place is some breakfast lunch grill greasy spoon, it will reserve a table for you. It might very well be the strangest damn request they get all week, and they might think you’re putting ‘em on, and they might tell you a reservation’s not needed, but if you really wanna make one, they will take it. I swear to god.)

... the kinda guy I am. In her defense, I didn’t wanna accept this bout myself til a few years back. This whole restaurant thing really is a voyage of self-discovery. I’ve learned so much about myself. More than I learned in twelve years at the bank. (It was painful, the process of learning. It’s never easy to come face to face with one’s own limitations and shortcomings. But I did. I now know who I am.)

I am or can be petty, small-minded, insecure, immature, unreasonable, resentful, bratty, pouty, boastful, irrational, vainglorious, prideful though without much reason to be, and when I don’t get my way bout something I’m pretty sure I’m not outta line thinking I should get my way bout, then I’m gonna raise a stink in a petty and public way. Especially when I’ve had a crappy day and I’m tired and people’ve been pissing me off all week in the first place.

Yeah, look at her. Just look at her. Standing at the podium, still wondering how and why I made her give up the table that wasn’t hers to give up in the first place. She’s trying to give me the glare. She doesn’t know I’m impervious to the glare. The glare doesn’t work on me. All she’s doing is wasting her time. I’m gonna pretend I’m real interested in the television. What’s on the television, I wonder. Hm? The ballgame? Yeah, sure, I’ll watch that. Ballgame, it is.

Oh, and how’s this for petty. When I seat this lady and her two embarrassed friends, I’m gonna tell Cheryl, Julie and Sarah to put this lady and her embarrassed friends in the cave. If she hasn’t learned her lesson by the time she’s seated, then a meal in the cave surely will make her learn.

Cave means whoever waits on them (Julie or Cheryl, though I think it’ll wind up being Cheryl) will take her own sweet time waiting on them. Everything’ll take at least twice as long as it should, closer to three or four times. (Lest anyone get annoyed by me putting someone in the cave, let me say this: The cave is only for people who deserve it. We’re not irresponsible with the cave. We use it only when we absolutely have to. Or when we feel like it. Whichever. Depends on our mood.)

The bartender (Sarah) will take her own sweet time pouring their drinks. Other tables’ drinks will be poured first. And if it’s cocktails the cave table orders, she’ll go easy on the booze to the point where they can barely taste any booze at all. If it’s tap beer they order, she’ll do the thing with the tap where you only pull it halfway forward, so it comes out a little foamy. Then when they complain bout all the head on top, she’ll do a shoulder shrug and tell ‘em it’s just been coming out that way all night.

But if it’s bottle beer, then really there’s no way to cave the bottles. Bottles are bottles. We’re not gonna pretend to be out of whichever bottle they ask for. It’s why the only real way to fight the cave is to order bottles. It’s also why I hate bottles.