Every week I religiously read Tom Sietsema’s DC dining chat on Washington Post. It’s always entertaining, very often for reasons that have nothing to do with food. Unbelievable incidents of entitlement huffs and dining rage are reported constantly, and depending on my Wednesday mood barometer I either chortle or despair. Today was a despair day thanks to this tasty little item:
Washington, D.C.: Someone in your chat two weeks ago spoke of a “phantom” reservation taker at Matchbox, which does not take same-day reservations. I think I know what happened. They dialed the wrong number — probably forgot the 202 area code and they were calling from Virginia. I am also a phantom reservation taker. My cell phone number is the same number as a popular restaurant in Virginia (except with a 202 area code), and I get at least 1 call a day for it. I usually take a reservation. It’s easier than explaining they have the wrong number and hopefully it teaches them not to do it again.
Tom Sietsema: Please tell me you’re joking — and if you’re not, please consider the consequences. Do you realize how many special occasions your once-a-day reservation taking might ruin? Or how tough you might be making it for the staff at the front desk?
Apparently it doesn’t occur to them, Tom. All they can think about is their own misguided crusade to dispense twisted anti-etiquette lessons. Who the hell does this Reservation Robin Hood think they are, taking this kind of attitude? “Easier than explaining”?? How is that? And how would it “teach them not to do it again” if they have no idea they were taken advantage of like that?
I had a phone number once that was one number shy of a congressional office, and it never occured to me to chat with the incorrect dialer about policy issues. Gosh, maybe I should’ve. I’m really stunned, but then again, perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised.
This post appeared in its original form at DC Metblogs