The Calculus of Courtship
The answer is yes, sometimes the wait really is 2 hours. And yes sometimes the hostess really does dislike you, but you probably deserved it because she told you the wait is two hours, but you saw two empty tables and said “But this restaurant’s practically empty!” and demanded to look at her reservation book even though you wouldn’t have known what anything meant. So, when then you sat down at what you thought was a clean table. (It was not clean.) The backwait knew it was not clean because he saw from across the restaurant that the table was empty, but the candle was off-center – an indicator that the party is gone, but the table needs to be wiped before it can be reset with new plates or linens or glassware. So he is grabbing several disposable table wipes and table settings and as he turns around - he sees you sit down and look at the table in disgust at the water rings and a spot of gastrique and a smear of puree. Perfect. So now you think the restaurant is dirty. Your server thinks you both are assholes. Your backwait takes extra care to avoid clearing your plates and refilling your water and marking you for your next course even if he gets in trouble, because sometimes the satisfaction is worth it, and at the end of the day – everyone is absolutely fucking miserable.
Were you aware that tables have numbers? And seats at tables have numbers?
Hostesses have to do this incredible Calculus that I cannot describe where you are having to estimate how long it will take someone to eat dinner. Factors that come into play –
Are they touching? Are they talking a lot? Are they laughing? What are they ordering? Fun, exciting stuff that tells us they’re probably gonna hang out and lounge and luxuriate. Boring stuff that tells you they’re playing it safe or are afraid of the menu so they’ll be finished pretty quickly. Married? Are they celebrating anything? If they’re married and celebrating – are they going all out? If they’re dating – first date? Second date? Are they trying to get out of here asap so they can fuck? Are they that group of friends where like every 10 minutes someone new arrives and they’re all like, “Adam’s here! Man! Adam! Where’d you come from dude!?” They will be here all night. There will be roughly 28 of them by the night’s end and if we don’t kick them out, they will claim squatter’s rights until we alert all possible local authorities (police, fire department, a shaman or two.)
And you’re doing all of this based on the capabilities of the restaurant. You only have so many tables of so many sizes. And you have servers who all want an equal amount of tables and an equal amount of tips and if you accidentally give someone a couple who turns into a gold mine and someone else a family of four who orders bread and water, well, you might get voted off the island this week.
I was only talking about walk-ins.
You have to take into account reservations, special occasions, allergies and dietary restrictions, people walking up and asking you, “Hi, we’ve been waiting for 45 minutes (20 minutes) is our table ready?”, also people calling and asking if there is a wait or asking to make a reservation or asking to speak to the chef or asking about a particular thing that you have no idea about.
Please do not misunderstand, I loved being a hostess, it was very fun. You get to look pretty and be charming. You’re the first person they encounter when they arrive so you learn that first impressions can be really, really important!
Restaurant industry people are very nosy and permanently horny. So sometimes you see a couple. They’re having fun. They’re getting cozier. You’re all whispering about how good they look together. If it’s a Sunday night and we’re bored because it’s mostly slow, maybe the manager even lowers the lights - sets the mood. Very “Kiss the Girl” a la The Little Mermaid. Because sometimes the server and hostess and your backwait are rooting for you because you’ve been nice to all of them and everyone want you two to leave here and have the best sex of your life. Because food and good service and a cocktail or two and mood lighting are aphrodisiacs.
There’s a lot of math involved, but mostly it’s magic.
Hi! I’m Anna Carter, a GFE escort in Manhattan, NYC. I’m originally from Atlanta, GA.