Around 6:30 I stood at my host stand watching the cars pull into the parking lot of my restaurant. I waited patiently with several menus in hand waiting for who ever pulled in to come through the front double doors, into the waiting area, and open the last set of doors closest to me. The host stand is made out of expensive fake wood stained the color of Sierra. The surface is disorganized with the seating chart, rotation sheet, and random papers with the week's schedule and "helpful tips on being a gracious host."
A young couple came up to the outside doors each holding a backpack staring inside very confused. To break the awkward eye contact I looked down at the rotation sheet to see who was next to be seated. Technically it was Erica, but Katie only had the one guy and I could tell she was bored and could use another table. I glanced at the seating chart to figure a place to put them and when I looked back up, the couple was gone. I panned to the windows and saw them walking next door to the hotel connected to this place. I strangely forget often that this tiny hole in the wall is in the same building as the Holiday Inn.
How typically slow this Monday night is. At least the bar will have patrons strolling in once Monday night football starts around eight or so. Then again I may be long gone if nothing picks up.
I went back to tapping my pen on the floor chart wondering if Francesca was going to want to split something again tonight. The guests (we aren't allowed to say customers) were being unusually social. Most times I seat guests and they could care less about my name or the draft of the day. Tonight, however, guests continuously walked past the host stand to the salad bar and had something to say. Usually it is about the music being too loud or the fact that they never got biscuits (as if there is something I can do about it).
On nights like these I tend to pay attention to details I never in a million years would allow to cross my mind. Along with the host stand, The columns and the bottom half of all the walls are covered with the same Sierra wood. The top half of the walls have a rotten mustard color wallpaper with random framed paintings (none of which are relevant for a dining experience). The restaurant in a whole is divided into three sections. To the right of the double doors is small section mainly used by guests who want a view of the bar's TV but don't want to sit in the bar area itself. Along the windows are five tables. Each have four chairs. On the opposite side are four booths with green covers. The three closest to me are meant for up to four people. The one in the back can seat up to six.
Behind that section, you guessed it, is the bar area. Mounted with four TVs the bar is a haven for those lonely people who come in alone but leave with someone else. The stool-like-chairs are extremely close together so, I assume, more people can sit there. The lights are dimmed so everyone can see the TVs better. Normally no one cares what is on, but Sunday and Monday nights it's all about football. It is still early enough that there are only three or four people there. Give it another hour and it will be packed.
To the left of the double doors is the more spacious section of the restaurant. It is bigger then the previous section and bar area combined. Along the windows are four tables. but opposite are two circular tables (meant for five to six people) and booths all along the walls. This sense of "freedom" gives too many guests the arrogance they need sit where ever the hell they feel like.
To the left of the host stand is the salad bar. From left to right you begin with lettuce, then on to the fruits and vegies you want to add, and then finally the eight different types of dressings to pick from (unfortunately all right next to me) that no one bothers to read the handles to see which one it is. Usually I get asked which is which. As this point I should have a PHD in dressing-ology.
The bar area aside, the entire place looks like the styles of the 1920's and 60's had a child they desperately hated. As if being bored wasn't bad enough, I am in a place visually unpleasing. If there is a hell and I am destined to go there, it would be designed just like this with the same level of excitement.
---- Eric Montgomery
