Dear Feastlings,
The nearly full moon lit my return home Saturday night after what felt like a completely full moon night. We were, mercifully, quite busy, but in the least merciful way. Ever since I discovered that there was a group called VAMP, an acronym for Victims of Astrologically Misaligned Planets, I’ve moved from feeling victimized by my peers to feeling victimized by the greater cosmos, and Saturday was a reminder that things often don’t go the way you’ve planned, that it can easily feel like the universe is working against your better interests, and that ultimately, it really doesn’t matter, because, at least as far as Saturday was concerned, the universe regards three or four tables of people waiting too long for their dinner as small change.
I, on the other hand, don’t. I regard it as a big deal. If you were one of the people I didn’t get to apologize to in person because the kitchen was so swamped on Saturday, please accept this apology now. As the universe would have it, a group of 38 ended up ordering nearly 40 minutes behind schedule, and the upshot was going from an empty ticket rail to one that wouldn’t even hold all the orders that had come in over the course of about 15 minutes. For four people to feed 114 people is no mean feat as it is, but when 80 of those people place their order over the course of 15 minutes or so, I think you’d be hard pressed to expect any four people to feed five and a half people a minute, even if they’re well prepared.
I felt, under that most gibbous of gibbous moons, like a VAMP, and I felt like an easy dozen of our guests, and four brutalized line cooks, and a few servers, a dining room manager and assorted other staff here were in there with me, buffeted by interstellar maltreatment.
Dear dozen guests,
I’m sorry.
Dear coworkers,
I’m sorry.
Dear universe,
I doubt you’ll see this, so we’ll just go on about our business.
What’s our business? Food and drink, studded with heartfelt apologies. We were let off easy, as near as I can guess: I didn’t see a bunch of all-caps reviews pop up Sunday morning, talking about how wronged our guests were, even though I felt they were wronged. People seemed to be understanding of the situation, and it helps that nearly everywhere any of us goes, businesses are understaffed, with employees who are undertrained, and our patience has been stretched to the point that it’s now flabby and loose and willing to countenance mediocrity; we’re now deflated and resigned to accept the old substandard as the new standard.
Embarrassed as I may be at our shortcomings last Saturday, I’m grateful that only two people are out sick today rather than the four or five it’s been throughout the holiday season, and we’ve managed to pull together a wine tasting this Saturday,
a Christmas Eve carryout menu, for which you’ll need to order by 8:00 pm this Thursday the 19th,
and a New Year’s Eve menu as well.
Will we let more people down? I’d imagine so. But will we do our level best not to? Without question. And will we do whatever we can to rectify whatever tragedies the Misaligned Planets inflict upon us? There is no doubt. Join us when and where you will, know that we appreciate your patience, and know that you’re far bigger and more important to us here at Feast than you are to the vastness of the universe, and with any luck, that will count for something. I know I like to feel important to someone now and again, even if they’re as small in the scheme of things as I am. You’re important to me.
Love,
Your fellow mote.