Some nights at my job suck. I'm sure this is the case with any job: there are good days and there are bad days. Some nights at my job do NOT suck. Last night was one of the most non-sucky nights I've had there. I got cut early, I made a lot of money, I got to drink some ridiculous wine and eat some really delicious steak.
It was kind of slow. One of those nights where you're thinking "If I can walk with $100, I will be so happy." Not many tables. It's cold outside. Then, one of our regulars walks in. The man drinks good wine, and usually at least two bottles of it. He sits in my section. Yes! This night is already looking up. I have only one other table, and pretty soon, they leave. The regular and his friend have gone through their bottle of Quintessa. I ask if they'll have another bottle. He tells me I can pick any wine if I will sit and have a glass with them. I ask my manager. He says as long as I have no other tables, that it's fine with him. I choose a bottle of Shafer Hillside Select (a perfect 100 point wine), and grab an extra glass. Woo! One of the bartenders from Capital Grill joins us at the table. He's come in to have some dinner, because he's friends with our bartender. He's been at his job, doing prep work. The regular and his friend ask me what I'm doing this evening. I reply "Working." They ask if I would go to dinner when I'm done. They're talking steaks, at Capital, because the bartender has been talking about his job. I am hungry. I like steak. I agree. We roll toward the valet. We stop in Mi Cocina, next to the valet. We get a round of pre-dinner mojitos. They get the car from valet, and of course it's a damn Bentley. I wish I were in my own car. Or driving this one.
Then, we arrive at the Crescent. I've not eaten dinner at Capital Grille before. But it's real fancypants. I am still in my uniform. We're seated at the bar, while we wait for a table. The regular asks me what I like to drink. "Champagne" is my instant reply. He orders a bottle of Cristal from the bartender on duty. I had seen *this* bartender at my wine bar Monday night. He's tall, and you all know how I like that. The hot bartender (who is another friend of our bartender...we all seem to know each other in this town) lets me do the taste. Aww yeah! Twenty minutes later, we're lead to our table. Hot Bartender brings my champagne. The regular orders a 1986 Chateau Haut Brion. Hell yeah! It's a first growth. And it's really good. The gentlemen stick to the Bordeaux. I had the whole bottle of champagne, and one glass of the Haut Brion. After we ate, we were joined by three more people. I was drunk. And they wanted to go to a club. Even in my inebriated state, I was not up for a club. I protested. "Please? Five minutes?" the only other girl in our group pleaded. Fine. Five minutes. We go back to the bar. We are waiting for a town car. We came in someone's car, so I don't know why we're waiting for a town car. But I don't object. I go with them to the bar. I decline drinks. The regular asks if I want more champagne. I state that really, I am all right. He turns away from me and orders a bottle of Dom Perignon. Goddammit! I am already drunk, but I don't want to decline delicious champagne. It would be so unDude of me. I drink another glass, quickly, and ask if we can please go back to the West Village. I am all funned out, and still in my uniform, now at a club. The town car takes us literally a block and a 1/2, we get out. The regular's friend goes to find the valet, and I go back to my wine bar. They are closed, and I walk out the garage with one of my coworkers. "You bitch!" she says. "Next time, I get that table" "Deal!", and I toddled off into the night full of good food, good wine, and having slipped my number to the Hot Bartender.