Amateur Night
Valentine’s Day and National Condom Awareness week always coincide. Coincidence? I think not. I also think it’s a little silly to have a week dedicated to condom awareness. Aren’t we all already aware of condoms?
The two busiest days in the restaurant industry are Mother’s Day and Valentine’s Day. Each come with their own annoying nuisances too. Mother’s Day is for shut-ins. For a lot of those mothers being treated to brunch this is the one day a year they get out of the house. Think of the mother from What’s Eating Gilbert Grape. Mother’s Day is probably the one day a year her kids get her off of the couch. Valentine’s Day is for amateurs; the night when young couples try to act like adults. The girls get all dolled up in scarlet; the men take off their Red Sox hats and tuck in their striped shirts.
Last night was amateur night at Excelsior. What does amateur night mean in the service industry? It means the servers go in an hour earlier and work two hours later because the entire restaurant has to be converted to accommodate nothing but deuces. All those big tables that can seat six to ten people must be rolled away so that room can be made for all those lovey dovey couples.
My first table last night was the quintessential Valentine’s Day table. The girl was, of course, draped in scarlet but she stood out more than any other girl because of her fiery red hair. V-Day is obviously her day to burn bright. From the moment they sat down the boy could not keep his hands to himself. He was constantly holding and kissing her hands, which caused difficulty when attempting to take their order or even grab their attention. In fact, ten minutes after they sat, they had yet to order any sort of tasty and refreshing beverage. This posed a problem since Saturday Night Rules were in effect. Eventually they ordered cocktails but it was nearly half an hour after their arrival when they placed their order.
The biggest deal breaker on amateur night is wine. Many boys pretend to know what they are doing when ordering wine but the server can always tell that they don’t. Lucky for them the girl can never tell. Tucked stripe shirt declined my offer of assistance with the wine list and took the task on solo. The only problem is that Excelsior has a 40 page wine list with more than 1000 different bottles of wine from every wine region of the world. I watched from a far as he flipped and flipped and flipped whilst at the same time maintaining his controlling grasp on Scarlet’s hands. Eventually he gave up and asked me for a suggestion. This act is always clever on the guy’s part because it sends the message to the girl that the guy would rather gaze at her than waste time perusing the wine list. Naturally I referred him to my default wine, Caymus. He didn’t question me at all. Now Caymus, at $290 a bottle, is in the mid-price range. What? Did you think I was going to suggest a $40 bottle of wine? Please.
Last night was slower than expected though, mostly because Boston was encased in ice. Amateur couples came and went except of course for Scarlet and Striped Shirt, who were so engrossed with one another that they marinated for over three hours. Even when their entrees came they refused to unlock their bony digits. The food sat there for about twenty minutes before they touched it. Striped Shirt ate everything of course, Scarlet ate about a third.
But the biggest reason Valentine’s is amateur night has to do with tipping. The tips are shit, usually between 10-15%. (21% is the norm.) This is why wine is key. Servers have to jack the check up as high as possible: 10% on $400 is a lot more than 10% on $200. And no guy wants to look cheap on amateur night. That’s why you sell as much as possible. The guy will never complain or even ask about the price because there is no limit to his love. There is however a limit to his credit card.
At the end of the meal the $470 check must have been a bit of a shocker. You can always tell by the way the guy quickly glances over the check. He opens it, scans down for the total, and then slides in the plastic. The real amateurs will always flinch by reopening the check for a split second to make sure they saw the right price. There is nothing they can do though. They go home, (hopefully) get some action, then fret over their deficit in the morning.
Valentine’s Day makes no sense to me. Maybe it’s because I’m single and don’t believe in love or maybe it’s because I see no reason to spend so much money trying to impress a girl. There are plenty more romantic gestures than buying chocolate or jewelery or dropping $500 on dinner. Personally, I’d rather serenade a woman with Danke Schön.