Death by Yelp Reviews

Working in the service industry builds character. I wrote this piece in 2017 working as a hostess as a Japanese restaurant, paying my way through college. I still find it to be humorous. And yes, I still have the patience of a saint.

So I quickly learned that it is not enough to have a toothy smile.

It doesn't cut it to brush twice daily, up and down, back and forth in earnest effort to have the brightest smile because customers, quite frankly, will still be mean as shit to you. From the second they step through our mahogany wooden doors and the smell of the entire Finding Nemo cast tickles their nose hairs, I have a rehearsed script of exactly what I am to say. I nod, adjust my voice two pitches higher, and smile just big enough so my eyes arch in precisely the right way to make me look like an innocent, docile anime character. Who could possibly be mean to Sailor Moon in flesh and bone, right?

WRONG.

The minute you tell a customer they will have to wait at least half an hour until a table is available, the gaping portal to Hell parts in the floor beneath you and you are left to fend off Satan and his trident with a mint flavored toothpick. As a hostess your primary duty is to be the head of the house. As soon as a customer walks into the restaurant, you have 30.3 seconds to charm the corduroy pants off of them because the way in which they are greeted sets the mood for the rest of their dining experience. If their dining experience is positive, the tip-out will be more generous. If the tips are more generous, you can leave the restaurant with quite a bit more in your pocket than you came with. And if your pockets are just as a heavy as your tormented heart, you allow yourself a stiff drink at the end of the night and throw yourself a pity party. Number in attendance: 1.

During weekends and certain diabolic holidays (i.e. Valentines) the sushi restaurant I work at can go on over an hour wait. No matter how clear and coherent I am about the wait time, I can almost guarantee that in due time customers will come barking like a band of flesh hungry coyotes. They typically demand a table after a distressing 15 minutes and if cannibalism was socially acceptable, I would make a palatable appetizer. Nevertheless, I try. to. keep. my. cool. As soon as I see them speed walking from the waiting room to the host-stand with steam blowing from both ears and blood vessels pulsating from their forehead, I close my eyes and take myself back to that one yoga class I took that one time. (Singular. I took ONE yoga class.) I remind myself that it can't be that bad. I am stronger than this. I will respect the light in this customer if she respects the light in me. Namaste, right?

NO. NAMASTE ISN’T GOING TO WORK THIS TIME.

Often times the customer roars at me with her fiery dragon's breath leaving the Reservations book in a pile of ashes and complains incessantly that her children are hungry. Hungry? Have you seen those commercials about the impoverished children in Africa, ma'am? The commercials that play that one tearjerking Sarah Mclachlan song that makes you feel like an all around shitty person? Yeah, those commercials. Maybe you should patiently wait down the hallway and pull those commercials up on your smart phone and watch them a few times rather than complaining to me at fine dining establishment that your impatient children are hungry. I will not be guilted by those puppy dog eyes! Those pouty lips are not my Kryptonite!

And although these fervorous thoughts race through my head incessantly and I would love nothing more than to stand my ground and bark back, I bite my tongue. I flash a toothy smile. You know why?

YELP REVIEWS.