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Hacienda Colorado is apparently an equal opportunity employer, but favors the young and retarded. In an inexplicable bout of planning ahead, I called to make dinner reservations for tomorrow night.
"Hacienda Colorado, this is Jeff with a 'G'."
Why do I need to know this? "I'd like to make a reservation, please."
"Uh, yeah? For when?"
"For--"
"Not for tonight!" Geoff interrupted, aghast at my audacity.
"What?"
"You're not trying to make a reservation for tonight are you?"
"No."
"Oh. Well, for when?"
Don't kill him. He's not worth it. No one would miss him, but don't kill him... "For tomorrow night," I replied, calmly.
"Oo-kaaaaay," he said slowly, voicing his growing irritation with my ignorance of the reservation process, "What time?"
"Six."
Geoff sighed and persevered, "For - how - many - people?"
Well, maybe kill him just a little. "Two."
"Yeah -- we don't take reservations."
What the fuck was the point of all that, then?! "Then does it matter when I wanted to come in?"
"Yeah -- we'll probably be busy around 6. That's dinner." Really? What a coincidence. "Call us about an hour ahead and we'll put you on the list," he sloughed. "Then you'll probably have to wait about 20 minutes or more when you get here, but you get to do most of your waiting from home," he touted as though he'd just imparted some brilliant new strategy in restaurant management.
"So you don't take reservations, but you'll put me on the list if I call in around 5 to eat at 6, and then I get to come in and wait at least 20 minutes anyway?"
"Uhh, yeah."
"Say G-eoff, why can't you just put me on the list now?"
"Uhhhhh..." I could hear his brain cells' popping, effervescent demise while he pondered this, "Uhh... 'cause you have to call tomorrow, an hour ahead?"
"Why?"
"...'Cause we have to put you on the list."
"An hour ahead, right," I assured him.
"Right."
"Thanks. Say, G-eoff, are you working tomorrow night?"
"Uhh... yeah."
"Good. Good-bye."
