It is the 13th of February. And Valentines Day is imminent. Awesome. Don’t get me wrong, I am single and I have a waitress’ view of this greeting card debacle of a holiday. If you work in any restaurant with a price point above $25 a person, Valentine’s Day is pretty comical. If the restaurant you work in is particularly romantic it will quickly be transformed into a candy coated rose colored coupled up love machine. Four tops moved and replaced with tables for two. (In regimented rows of six. Soooo…..hot) Your regulars are all home hiding from their wives or mistresses or both. . Why anyone thinks this is romantic is beyond me. I used to work at a destination spot in Los Angeles that screamed high expectations and heartbreak on Valentines Day. Every year we would have at least two young women running down the front steps in tears. There was a betting pool in the back.
“So Alan’s got table 4 she’s got serious crazy eye and he hasn’t put down his cell phone in 20 minutes. I’m taking table 27 with the bored looking Iranian and the blond in the red dress with the blinking hearts on her boobs. Wait table 4! She’s up! She’s gone! We have a runner!”
I never had such expectations. Valentines Day for me usually involved playing Martha Stuart on crack for some elementary school party with a glue gun in one hand and a bottle of red wine in the other. Unlike Martha I would get some incredible craft idea at 10pm the night before the party, then turn my living room into a hurricane of tissue paper and sequins. I would wake up in the morning with my mouth full of glitter and my arms covered in burns from the glue gun. Good times. Seriously.