Mary has this credit card with a rewards program. Every time she uses it, she gets points based on the dollar amount spent, and when she reaches a certain number of points, she can cash them in for a reward, such as a gift card to a store or restaurant. In recent history, she has been choosing $50 gift cards to Darden Restaurants. Darden, if you don’t know, is the restaurant corporation that owns the Olive Garden, Red Lobster and others.
When she gets one of these cards, we like to go to the Red Lobster in the Bronx. This particular Red Lobster is in Bay Plaza: a sprawling, multi structure shopping center out by Pelham Bay, in the shadows of the massive high rises of Co-op City. We live in Manhattan, so it’s like a little trip out to the ‘burbs. We get on the Bx 12 bus in our neighborhood and get a bumpy, jerky tour of Fordham Road in the Bronx for about forty-five minutes. Often we make the trip in tandem with shopping at the nearby Home Depot, or the Bed Bath & Beyond. We do this every couple of months, depending on how often Mary gets a gift card. It’s fun.
Mary & I went out there yesterday. It seemed like the logical time to go: Mary had recently gotten a Darden gift card, and I had just gotten back from bringing my son Zack home to his mom after visiting with us for a week. We’re usually pretty tired after a week with Zack, and don’t feel like cooking dinner. Plus the train station I use for that purpose is in the Bronx, on the way to Bay Plaza. So we decided this would be the time to use the card.
It was a busy night; we had to wait to be seated and were given one of those clear plastic lobsters with the red LEDs that light up and vibrate when a table is available. Soon, we were seated in a booth just around the corner from the hostess desk; a glass of chardonnay for Mary and a Sam Adams for me as we waited for our food. I had been looking forward to this dinner all day.
I looked up from my beer and saw a uniformed security guard standing against the wall, guarding the space between the hostess desk and the exit.
“Wow” I commented,” They have a security guard in here!”
Mary turned around to look
“Geez, I knew the Bronx was tough, but I didn’t know it was that tough!” I continued,”Are they worried about brawls? Gang fights?”
I pictured people in the lobby fighting over tables, or maybe punching out a hostess for being seated too close to the kitchen or bathroom, or maybe brandishing a switchblade at the waiter if their scallops or broiled sole was not up to standard.
The guard was in a dark blue uniform, had a badge and was standing with his feet apart with his arms folded. He was a big guy, better than six feet and looked like he was in his very early twenties. A kid, really. Despite the uniform, he had an open, affable expression.
Then it suddenly hit me why they would have a security guard in the restaurant. Dine & Dash. In other words, skipping out on a restaurant bill. One of the most unacceptable behaviors that exist. The province of the few, self entitled who possess the stones to actually do it. Those few mooching parasites whose effigies many an irate waiter mentally conjured up and mentally disemboweled with the chef’s Wusthofs. The stealing of food, hospitality and real estate that few people actually have the gall to do. Or is it really that few?
“Dine & Dash!” I concluded to Mary.
The security guard was maybe twelve feet away must have overheard us because he smiled.
“So you’re here to keep people from walking out on the tab?” I asked
He nodded and smiled
“Wow! It’s that much of a problem here?”
“Yep” he answered.
“So is dinner part of the deal?,” I asked,”Are they gonna feed you?”
“I don’t know.” he seemed amused
“Well, I hope so.” I answered as I went back to my beer.
Wow! It obviously was enough of a problem that they felt the need to station a security guard at the door to intercept any would be thieves of service. I mentally scrolled through every other casual dining franchise I had been to in the recent past: the Applebees in Camarillo, CA, the Ruby Tuesdays in Annapolis, MD, the Macaroni Grill in Bolivar, TN, and tried to remember if there had been a uniform guard stationed at the door and concluded there was not. Needless to say, in the smaller dining establishments in Manhattan there were not.
Realizing that restaurants operate on a very thin profit margin, non payment of the restaurant bill, even very infrequently really does affect the bottom line. However, I have to admit that a uniformed guard standing there has an adverse affect on ambience. Sort of cuts into the relaxed, casual, family atmosphere they are trying to project. Makes it less like Red Lobster and more like the mess hall at San Quentin, if ever so slightly. Restaurants have spent big bucks on their ambience. And it pays off handsomely by increasing business. And yet this particular Red Lobster felt that dine & dash was enough of a problem that the benefit of having a guard to intimidate parasitic losers into paying for their meal outweighed the effect it had on the atmosphere. Wow!
And on top of that, assume a restaurant is open from 12 noon to 10 PM, seven days a week. Also assume they have a guard there when it is open for business. Ten hours a day. Seven days a week. 10 x 7 = 70. The restaurant is willing to pay for 70 hours per week for a guard. Assuming the guard is paid minimum wage (In New York it is $7.25) and the security company takes $4.75 cut (small), this restaurant is paying $12 per hour, for seventy hours per week. That’s $840 per week, minimum. This means that dine & dash is costing this particular Red Lobster franchise a minimum of $840 per week.
Probably more! They felt that this was enough of a problem to undermine, their ambience, and pay a minimum of $840 per week for the privilege! Even if they only brought in the guard during busy time…..still! I guess I just have a hard time digesting the fact that there are enough people this bereft of conscience, and yet audacious enough to do this that it warranted these measures. But they wouldn’t do it if they didn’t need it! Here I thought that dine & dash was practiced by maybe one or two dirtbags a week, tops. I guess I should never underestimate the ratio of ass—-ry! Wow.
My entree came and I had another beer. I casually looked around the dining room, surveying the people. I wonder who it would be. Who, but for the presence of the guard, would sneak out the door on their bill. There were all types of people here. All races, all demographics. Was it the deuce to the far right with the guy masticating with his mouth open, while his oblivious wife fooled with her bling blinged cell phone? Was it the large family in the middle of the dining room, with the two toddlers in the wooden boosters and the grandparents? Maybe it was the friendly looking family of four across the aisle. Or the three women with the elaborate specialty drinks. Who? I wonder.