Her name was Tulip Twinkletoes.
Ok, it wasn't really. I respect the privacy of my patrons so I'm not going to give you her real name. (I also respect not getting fired because I gave out our guests' names). But trust me when I say that her name was ridiculous. It jumped out at me from among our lunch reservations and I thought, "I cannot wait to get a visual on this one."
Her friends arrived first, and sat down in the lobby to wait for Ms. Twinkletoes. And wait they did. She finally blew in over an hour later, all Southern grande dame with flawless makeup and twinkling jewelry. She was flustered, and apologetic, and just generally all over the place. She met me at the hostess stand, and waving her hands in the air, proceeded to ask me for "the lightest, airiest table."
LC feels my pain.
I can best describe her request as "abstract." It's something along the lines of "Can you seat me at the booth with the best aura?" or "I'd like to have a chair that's humble about its accomplishments." But let's assume for a moment that it's normal for people to ask for "light and airy" tables at restaurants. I work at a steakhouse. Think ribeyes, dim lighting, leather, mahogany, brass. We don't do "light and airy." Why would she come here if that's the experience she was hoping for? Anyway, I couldn't fly her to a magical table in the treetops where bluebirds placed the napkin on her lap and pinot grigio was served out of buttercups. So, she got table 23 which is the same as all the other tables in the restaurant.
Truth be told, she turned out to be a lovely lady and I hope she had a nice time catching up with her friends. My interaction with her just got me to thinking about how table requests can get out of control. Some customers worry -- mistakenly, in my opinion -- that where they sit in a restaurant dictates their entire experience. The other evening our hostess paraded a party of 8 throughout the dining room as they shot down every location offered them. All it takes is ONE person to complain about the first table, and then the flood gates open up and everyone has to pipe up about why they don't want that booth or that section of the restaurant. Eventually, there are no more options and someone has to sit in a place they previously said they didn't like. It's a bad way to start the evening.
So I'm sending out a public request asking for a little flexibility. Loosen up and have a seat where the hostess puts you. Don't take a survey of everyone in your party asking if the table is okay -- you're inviting trouble. At the beginning of the meal, location is all you care about, but its importance will dissolve when you meet a charming server, eat delicious food, and enjoy sparkling conversation. No matter where the table is, we aim to make it the center of your universe when you're dining out at a nice restaurant. When everything comes together, any table can be the best seat in the house.