Hot Josh and the Restaurant Reservation Emergency
I arrived at the restaurant at 7:03 p.m.
Prime dinner hour.
Saturday night.
The parking lot was full.
The lobby was packed.
Couples stood shoulder to shoulder near the entrance. Families occupied every available bench. One man had reached the stage of hunger where he was staring at the decorative bowl of fake fruit.
I approached the hostess.
“Table for one.”
“Absolutely. Do you have a reservation?”
“No.”
She looked at the tablet.
“We’re looking at about an hour and fifteen minutes.”
I laughed.
She didn’t.
That was concerning.
“An hour and fifteen minutes?”
“Approximately.”
I looked behind me.
There were at least twenty people waiting.
Then I looked through the dining room.
Every table appeared occupied.
Obviously, something had gone terribly wrong with their planning.
“I’m already here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So shouldn’t that move things along?”
She smiled professionally.
“I’m afraid everyone else is also already here.”
Interesting.
I hadn’t considered that.
“How long would the wait be if I were extremely hungry?”
“The same.”
“What if I haven’t eaten since lunch?”
“The same.”
“What if lunch was disappointing?”
Still the same.
This restaurant had absolutely no emergency classification system.
I asked whether they kept a table available for unexpected circumstances.
“We do keep tables available for reservations.”
“Exactly.”
“No, sir.”
Apparently we were using the same words to describe entirely different concepts.
I stepped aside and studied the operation.
Every few minutes, the hostess called a name.
“Johnson, party of four!”
Four people disappeared into the dining room.
“Ramirez, party of two!”
Two more.
This wasn’t a restaurant.
It was an evacuation.
Then she called:
“Josh, party of two!”
My head snapped around.
Josh.
Finally.
Recognition.
I approached confidently.
“Right here.”
A completely different Josh stood up.
The hostess looked at me.
“Are you with his party?”
“No.”
“Then that’s not your reservation.”
I looked at Other Josh.
He looked at me.
For one brief moment, two Joshes stood at the intersection of destiny.
“You could probably fit one more,” I suggested.
Other Josh declined.
Selfish.
Forty minutes passed.
I had now invested too much time to leave.
At fifty minutes, I started watching tables.
Table twelve had finished eating.
Table seven had declined dessert.
Table four was lingering over coffee with absolutely no regard for the people suffering in the lobby.
I considered approaching them.
I decided against it.
Growth.
Finally, after one hour and nine minutes, the hostess called my name.
“Josh, party of one.”
I stood.
“That’s me.”
She smiled.
“Your table is ready.”
I followed her through the restaurant like a victorious general entering liberated territory.
She led me to a small table.
I sat down.
Opened the menu.
And discovered the restaurant had stopped serving the entrée I specifically came there to order.
“Unfortunately, we just sold the last one,” the server explained.
I stared into the distance.
Seventy minutes.
Twenty-three waiting customers.
Two Joshes.
One emotional journey.
Gone.
“Would you like a few minutes to look at the menu?”
I closed it.
“No.”
He looked worried.
“I’ll have the burger.”
“How would you like that cooked?”
“Immediately.”
He laughed.
I didn’t.
Twenty minutes later, the burger arrived.
It was excellent.
Annoyingly excellent.
As I left, I passed the hostess.
“Have a great evening,” she said.
I stopped.
“You should really consider keeping one emergency table available.”
“For what kind of emergency?”
I pointed at myself.
“This.”
She laughed.
I walked out.
The lesson?
Reservations are apparently designed for people who know they’re going to be hungry several days in advance.
Hot Josh considers hunger a developing situation.
And developing situations require flexibility.
