In 15 years of working in restaurants, I’ve seen plenty of entitled guests—but none quite like Meghan. She showed up one packed Friday night with five friends, no reservation, and a smug smile, claiming to be “close friends with the owner.”
Little did she know, I am the owner.
Instead of revealing myself, I played along. I offered our VIP table, complimentary drinks, and guided them through our most luxurious dishes—caviar, truffle risotto, A5 Wagyu, $10 oysters. All without mentioning prices.
They laughed, ordered freely, and treated me like hired help. One even said, “I could never date a waiter. Too much of a pushover.”
When I finally brought the $4,200 check, Meghan’s face went pale. She tried to bluff, argued about the bill, and once again claimed to know the owner.
That’s when I handed her my business card.
“I’m Peter—the owner and executive chef. My family’s run this place since 1973.”
Silence.
After some tears, excuses, and help from her friends, she paid the bill.
As they left, I said, “Next time you claim to know someone important, make sure they’re not serving your table.”
Lesson served.