How I Got Blacklisted at Marea or, Why I Dread Making Reservations for My Bosses

Making reservations for executives is part and partial to working in a communications office (which I do). The office at large will assume that since we have a Na’vi-queue-hair-braid-sex-thing-like-finger on the pulse of the world, we would obvi have like, mad connects in the social/restaurant/maitre’d world. The thing is, I do have the special email addresses for the Waverly and Monkey Bar (who doesn’t these days?) but that’s about it. Like Simba and those shadowy parts, anything out of the G. Carter empire was more or less uncharted territory that I quickly had to start a-chartin’.

What I soon found is that people will always want last minute and impossible-to-get reservations at whatever place just got an amazing write-up. As high-power executives they rightly assume they should be able to just walk right into that bitch. One day, I will do this too. (Also: show up to work in shorts and a linen shirt with a cigar hanging from my mouth) Anyway, getting these reservations requires no uncertain amount of skill, panache and a suave Most Interesting Man In the World countenance.

Any girlfriend that I’ve ever had will tell you that I possess none of these.

This makes life interesting. I stammer, I don’t push hard enough, I push too hard. I empathize with the plight of those in the service industry. Every time I try to make a reservation for one of my bosses it’s like my first make-out sesh; but in this case it’s compounded by the girl having headgear, an Everlast chastity belt and one boob 3x the size of the other. Odd and sweaty.

Conflict

I had to make a reservation at the hot-to-trot Marea for my Boss’s Boss. This is like 5 months after they’ve opened and everyone is spreading the Michael White gospel and my BB has been at least 3 times by now and really likes it and wants to take some clients. I call up, no tables available, “Aw, that’s too bad” and I launch into this whole spiel about how he really loves it and it’d be great if she can make it work. I get put on a wait-list and instructed by my boss to bother their PR company. Done. Call the manager, done–but at this point the headcount has changed and I’m really not making any friends with the staff. We’re getting down to 36 hours before the requested appointment and I’m seriously sweating, running back and forth between a private-ish closet so I can make these calls without my Boss knowing how badly I was screwing the pooch (bad).

Resolution

Luckily for me, I had a guardian angel in the form of a 5’3″ gilded-tongued ballbuster from the Bronx. She called up the manager, who at this point had to be twitching whenever our number came up on their caller ID, and had a talky-poo. The phrase, “This kid’s gonna lose his job” was used more than once.

In the end, we got the reservation, but at a cost. As he hung up, the manager stated, “I never want to see or hear from that kid again.” Does that mean that I could never actually go? No, it doesn’t mean that. Does it mean I have to pass off reservation requests to someone else?

Yup.

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About chris
www.chriscona.com

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