Mike Beversluis

Sunday, November 05, 2006

Feed the bears, but No Camping

DCist: Inside the House: Camping is for Yellowstone

It’s close to nine o’clock, and my 8:45 four-top is lolling at the bar.

The party at the table where we planned to seat them is leisurely browsing their dessert menus. They’ve been there since six. By all accounts, they should have been out by now. But half the party came in late, and the other two didn’t want to order until everyone arrived. They look comfortable.

I need to them to leave. I want that table vacated, re-set and ready for the next party. Preferably in five minutes or less.

I walk through the dining room and nod at their waiter. He follows me into the kitchen.

“Table 47,” I say nervously. “How long?”

“I don’t know. They’re taking their time.”

“Dude, the 8.45 is here already. Can you get them out?

“I’ll see what I can do.”
Restaurant-insider articles and blogs offer as good as look into deep-seated entitlement of the upper-middle-class as you could ever want. Which might not be very much.


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