One Reason (Among Many) I’m Glad I Don’t Own or Work in a Restaurant
This is a true story. It really happened. To me. I’ve omitted the name of the establishment in question. I don’t want them to receive any stigma because some whack job happened to drop in one night. I’ve also omitted the name of the offending party, which I know because he gave me a business card, to avoid the potential for litigation. Otherwise, everything is accurate, to the extent that my nearly 50 year old brain can recall the events of a week or so ago.
It’s a Monday night, well past 9:00. Mackie and I are getting hungry. She’s feeling anti-social so I venture out alone, promising to bring food home for her.
When I go out alone, I usually dine at the counter and often bring my laptop. I choose a restaurant with an L-shaped bar. I sit on the long side of the L, on the fourth stool from the corner. I place my laptop on the bar to my right, take off my glasses and put them on top of my computer.
The first part of the meal is uneventful. I order, sip iced tea and begin to eat. At some point, another patron, who I’ll call Unsuspecting Guy, comes in, sits along the short side of the L and orders a beer.
A short while later, the antagonist in this story, Weird Guy, saunters in and sits two seats to my right. Unsuspecting Guy and Weird Guy look like they’re cut from the same cloth – not office workers but not manual laborers, maybe foremen on some sort of job that keeps them in the field, outdoors. This, their arrival a few minutes apart and Weird Guy’s selection of a seat in the general proximity of Unsuspecting Guy leads me to believe that they know each other and were planning to meet.
My first clue that something was amiss came when Weird Guy, without saying a word to me, picks up my glasses and tries them on. “Coke bottles,” he says and puts them down. I acknowledge that my vision is terrible and move my belongings to my left side, in part because of Weird Guy’s unwarranted fondling of my specs and in part because I thought he might appreciate more room.
Instead of taking advantage of the additional space, Weird Guy slides to his right, places himself on the stool at the corner of the bar and strikes up a conversation with Unsuspecting Guy. He orders a couple of appetizers, a beer and a mixed drink, telling the bartender that the cocktail is for him to share with Unsuspecting Guy. This reinforces my suspicion that Weird Guy and Unsuspecting Guy know one another.
I then begin to pick up snippets of conversation. I can’t tell who’s saying what but I hear things like “I know we’re in San Francisco and all, but…” and “I think it’s a form of mental illness.” Being a not entirely clueless guy, alarm bells go off. It’s a gay bashing conversation and it’s taking place not just in San Francisco but in a restaurant whose tolerance regarding sexual preference is beyond reproach.
I keep my head down and continue to eat my food. I look up a couple minutes later and notice that both Unsuspecting Guy and Weird Guy have left their seats.
The bartender brings out Weird Guy’s appetizers. A concerned look crosses her face. Have the Guys skipped out on their checks? She sets the plates down at Weird Guy’s spot and returns to her duties.
A moment later, Weird Guy returns. Unsuspecting Guy is nowhere to be seen. For the first time, I notice what looks like a $10 bill at Unsuspecting Guy’s place at the bar. He’s gone. And he left in a hurry, not waiting for his change. Expensive beer. Hmm, I guess I was wrong about them knowing each other.
Weird Guy sits in the stool immediately to my right. “He (meaning Unsuspecting Guy) thought I was a homosexual,” says Weird Guy. Imagine that, I think to myself, you buy a cocktail to share with some guy you don’t know and he thinks you’re gay! How surprising. I say nothing aloud. I just nod my head and hope Weird Guy will go away.
Alas, that was not to be my fate in life. Weird Guy continues talking to me, “You look like a strong man. What do you do for a living?”
Now, I’ll grant you that I’m not the kind of guy who gets hit on very often by people of either gender so maybe I’m wrong about this, but “you look like a strong man” sure sounds like a pick up line to me. And Weird Guy is surprised that Unsuspecting Guy thought he was gay???
(For the record, despite broad shoulders and a barrel chest, I shouldn’t be mistaken for strong man. A fat man? Yes, as befits my handle. But a strong one? Not so much.)
Being a polite person, I tell him that I’m a marketing guy and I’m currently doing consulting.
“Do you want to know what I do,” Weird Guy asks.
No, as a matter of fact, I don’t. Engaging in a conversation with you is just about the last thing in the world that I want to do. I’d rather be hung, drawn and quartered. What I want is for you to remove yourself as far from my person as is humanly possible. I don’t want to hear you speak again, I don’t want to hear you breathe again, I just want you to leave me alone.
Of course, my actual response is courteous. “What do you do for a living,” I reply.
“I’m a GC, a general contractor,” says Weird Guy, handing me a card. “Do you have a business card?”
Now, I really should get some cards printed to help me land consulting gigs. I just haven’t gotten around to it. Usually when someone asks me for a card and I don’t have one, I’m kicking myself in the behind. But this time, I’m thanking my lucky stars that I can truthfully say that I have no card to give the man. Yes, if I’d had a card, I could have lied but the truth is I’m a really lousy liar.
Weird Guy asks if I’d like some of his appetizers. He has two of my favorite apps in front of him but I’m not going to touch them with a telephone pole, tempting as they might be. I politely decline.
Weird Guy now starts to really go over the edge. “I beat the f*ck out of…,” he begins. He doesn’t finish the sentence because the bartender approaches with Mackie’s take out order. She drops the food and retreats. Weird Guy doesn’t finish his sentence. I don’t ask.
Weird Guy then begins to babble about how he does “existential woodworking.” He compliments the craftsmanship in the bar and says, “I could make this place look like sh*t.” I’m not sure if he’s commenting on his woodworking skills or if it’s his intention to trash the place. I decide that trying to figure that one out will lead me down a path I don’t want to tread.
Mercifully, around this time, my food is finished and my check is paid. I bid adieu to Weird Guy, grab my laptop and Mackie’s food, and head back to the restroom.
Then, I do something I’ve never done. Out of sight from the bar, I find a server and ask him to quietly get the bartender and bring her back to where I’m standing. When she arrives, I tell her that Weird Guy is giving me a really bad vibe, relate an abbreviated version of our conversation, hand Weird Guy’s business card to her and counsel her to watch her back. She too had assumed that Weird Guy and Unsuspecting Guy were together. Channeling Amy Winehouse, I give her my best, “No, no, no.” She says that she’d already been planning to cut Weird Guy off from additional adult beverages. I opine that the problem may be more than simply drink.
Wishing the bartender luck and confirming that Weird Guy remained rooted at the bar (I was seriously concerned that him jumping me as I left was a real possibility), I head out the door. I note that a truck bearing the same company name as the business card that Weird Guy gave me is parked in front of the restaurant. This gives me some comfort as I figure that, as long as the truck doesn’t move, he’s not following me. I cross the street, jump into Mackie’s SUV and drive home.
Although I see no sign that Weird Guy follows me, I park in the garage instead of following our usual practice of stashing the car in the back alley. My story freaks out Mackie enough that, despite my assurances that Weird Guy is not on my tail, she tells me to double check that the doors are locked.
The next day, I stop by the restaurant to make sure that everything is cool. The bartender and other staff members from the previous night aren’t working so I ask the hostess, who wasn’t present, if things were OK from last night. She says, “Oh, you mean the guy who got arrested.”
Well, I didn’t know anyone had been arrested but I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts that we’re talking about the same guy. (Back when doughnuts cost a dime or a quarter, that was a good phrase. These days, doughnuts to dollars might work better.)
The hostess proceeds to tell me that the restaurant’s GM’s (who I assume must have been called in by the staff because I didn’t see him while I was there) attempts to convince Weird Guy that he shouldn’t drive sent Weird Guy into a tizzy. After cursing up a storm, Weird Guy heads outside where the bussers are putting the night gates over the windows. Weird Guy starts pounding on them (the gates, not the bussers), at which point the police were called. Weird Guy decides that he needs to take a leak, so he does so. Outside. On the sidewalk. Right beside his truck. While Weird Guy is watering the concrete, the cops roll up. It’s over for Weird Guy before it starts – the law observes his indiscretion, immediately cuffs him and hauls him off. I see no sign of his truck so I’m thinking it’s sitting in an impound lot.
So, loyal readers, if you ever hear me say that I want to own or work in a restaurant, please remind me of this story.
[REDACTED],
You bring up a good point about observing the guy's behavior, picking up that he's bad news from the get-go. It's too bad that some big cities, San Francisco in particular, tolerate people who are under the influence, mentally ill, or just plain bullies as "local color". If your buddy had tried this behavior in New York or Chicago, getting arrested would have been the least of his worries.
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More stories, it's been since Nov.
I have reviews for aspen restaurants. Network with any food blogs out in Aspen?
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