So by now it should be clear that I want everything to be perfect for my tables. It's a lofty goal, but they're spending a lot of money at my establishment and I truly am pursuing excellence for them. Usually, between the kitchen and me, things run pretty well.
Except, of course, when they don't. There's a reasonable expectation with "fancy" restaurants that the infrastructure is in working order, clean, organized, etc. But it's a building like any other, and there's always the chance of malfunction somewhere along the line.
Today's story begins with a 4-top consisting of two couples. They were having a great time. Wine was flowing and the appetizers were delicious. Right before the entrees arrived, one of the gentlemen excused himself to use the restroom. I was waiting for a drink at the bar when I saw him exit the bathroom, and grab my manager by the arm. No sooner had this happened than a man with an extremely bloody face stumbled in the front door and fell onto one of the chairs in the lobby.
My manager turned to me and said, "Sarah, please go check on the men's restroom. This guest said there's a leak in the ceiling."
Trying not to stare at the man with the cut-up face, I walked to the men's room and opened the door.
It was raining.
I had stepped into Mumbai during Monsoon season. This was not your typical throw-a-bucket-under-it-and-we'll-deal-with-it-later kind of leak. I notified my manager, who was on the phone about the injured man, and went back to my table of four to see that entrees had been delivered. The gentleman who had discovered the "leak" in the bathroom was back, wiping blood off his hands with our pristine white napkin. His wife was gone. I asked if he wanted me to keep her plate warm under the heat lamp, and he informed me that as she was a nurse, she was tending to the man with the bloody face.
She finished quickly and washed up. When she returned to the table she explained that the man had fallen on the curb outside, and his face broke his fall. He was covered in lacerations but would be ok.
Isn't this lovely dinner conversation? No, it's not, but they were in good spirits. I thought we could recover from this and finish the meal strong.
And that's when the fire alarm went off.
Now, I work for a restaurant that has burned down in the past, so we take these things seriously. I had to tell my guests to stop eating and exit the building.
Fire alarms are funny things, because they put the staff and customers on a more even keel. You're no longer servers and the ones being served -- you're all just a group of people standing around in a parking lot. We waited and waited for the fire marshall to arrive, and during this time I told my co-workers everything this table had been through.
I've recently learned a phrase that I wish I had known back then: "You have to know when to call it." As we waited for the fire marshall, and went over the problems this table had encountered, I figured it was time to call it. They'd seen fire, water, injury -- I wanted them to leave before the locusts came. I walked up and told them dinner was on us. They got in their vehicle and drove off without paying a dime. I didn't get a tip, which was fine. I want things to be enjoyable for my table, and if they have to clean the blood off their hands and wring water out of their socks when they leave, then not only is the evening not fun, but the train has obviously derailed. I don't consider any of what happened my fault, but the experience as a whole was decidedly less than stellar for my guests.
It turns out that a pipe had burst and the gushing water tripped the sensor for the alarm. My 4-top was a loss, but we were happy to learn that there wasn't another fire. The next night was business as usual, and we all made another try for a perfect dinner service.