Dateline: 2019. My last paycheck gig, before I apparently became a card-carrying member of 'the great resignation.' Groovy startup tech, 3 employees in USA, one in his 40s, two in their 20s. All co-founders. DC HQ. I went there a few times. Humid, crowded & expensive.
I could write at length about that year but shan't. Rather, just one aspect, for now. The older fella had a high maintenance / diva / annoying AF behavior when eating out. Specifically, he complained about pretty much everything. The table location in particular, but other random stuff. Two key examples.
Diva bullshit #1
My 1st visit to HQ, we 4 went out to din din at a fancy expensive joint. Place was packed. We had reservations. We were seated. All was good. No problem, right? Well, not to the diva. Because there was foot traffic near our table. There's foot traffic next to every table. It's a packed restaurant. But he went up to the host stand and said something to the effect of 'we can't sit here.' They said ok or whatever & put us back into the queue and told us to wait in the bar. Should be around 45 minutes. Thanks! Fucking diva. The adjacent bar was even more packed, 2 deep, shoulder to shoulder, very noisy, everyone was shouting. Maybe it's a DC thing who knows. I don't drink, I'm sober. Nothing for me to do but stand there with my heavy laptop bag, sweating in my nice dress clothes, getting bumped constantly, wondering wtf Diva man? We had a perfectly good table, were actually seated, I'm ravenous, and now we have to stand in the shouting arena and wait & wait & wait.
Diva bullshit #2
Location: NYC. We 4 were at a conference for a few days in a giant hotel overlooking Times Square. Stayed in rental a few blocks away. So after the conference ends we're all hungry, our meetings went well, we decide to go out to eat & celebrate. Mind you, the prior evening, my & the other younger guy walked over to the big Walgreens on the corner as they have a big deli section. Got sandwiches, chips, whatnot to go, walked back upstairs and we're fine. No problem. The next night, he's with us. Fuck me. We start walking in the area for fine dining, and a few blocks from Times Square there's 2 steakhouse next door to each other. Maybe still are. A Capital Grill & a Ted's Montana Grill.
The Capital Grill was, wait for it, packed. The Ted's: empty. We could easily see into both, big front windows across each. People were waiting for tables in the former. In the latter, the only people waiting were the staff. For me: this is a no-brainer. Fuck waiting. Go to the place where they're grateful for the customers. We'd be waited on like we're a priority.
But, no.
Diva had to go the packed place. Exact quote: must be empty for a reason. Yes Diva: it's empty because of that mindset. So he walks into the packed place for several mlnutes, we wait outside. I actually took a selfie standing on the sidewalk so I would always cherish this moment. We get added to the wait list, then wait for it: we wait! A long time! Finally get our table and proceed ordering a bunch of stuff. They get wine, after he examines the wine list for, wait for it: way too long. You're not signing a mortgage, just order a bottle of whatever. I of course don't drink, ergo don't contribute to the wine expense. But we eat apps, steaks, etc. I did look at the bill, it was over $700. Company paid for it of course. Ridiculous. I got takeout from Walgreens the prior eve and was totally fine with it.
Turns out, all along the Diva had a serious illness he told none of us about. NYC would be the last time I saw him. However, as a fun bonus memory, I got to talk to him literally on his death bed. I was so irritated at one of the youngers ghosting me both online & in person in 3 different cities (yes it's possible) I told her I'm coming to DC to straighten this out. She said (actually typed because she literally refused to voice talk with me for months) call him first. So I did. He can't speak above a whisper. I heard he was sick but knew nothing else. We spoke for a few minutes. He died a week later. Thanks for that.
So what's the point here? Very simple. Quit fucking complaining. Be happy you have money in your pocket. A career. A job. A house. My dad was also like this, to the point I dreaded eating out with him, so we rarely did, always got takeout. When we did do sit down, which was rare, it was a buffet. Those work the best for complaining diva types. It's self service. Nobody cares if you complain at a buffet.
Quit fucking complaining and be happy you're alive & above ground. Because there will come a day when you won't be. And then having a table in the wrong spot? Guess how much it matters then.
