In my fifteen years running a restaurant, I’ve met all kinds of guests—from the wonderfully kind to the truly challenging. But none left a mark quite like Meghan.
It was a packed Friday evening in December, right before the holidays. The place was buzzing—every table filled, the bar three deep, and the kitchen working overtime. I was near the front helping our hostess, Madison, when Meghan and her friends strolled in with confidence that outpaced the reservation list.
“Table for six,” Meghan said, smiling like she owned the place.
“We’re fully booked tonight,” Madison replied, politely. “Do you have a reservation?”
“No reservation,” Meghan said, “but I’m close friends with the owner. He always keeps a table for me.”
Madison glanced at me. I stepped forward and asked gently, “And what’s the owner’s name?”
Without hesitation, she doubled down. “Just let him know Meghan’s here. He won’t be happy if we’re turned away.”
What she didn’t realize? She was talking to the owner—me.
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