I'm posting this blog for our food writer, Monika Mitchell Randall, who happens to be celebrating a birthday today. (No, I won't tell you how old she is — think I'm stupid?)
She actually celebrated this past Sunday with family and friends, at one point visiting Judge Baldwin's Brewing Company, because an out-of-town guest was staying at the Antlers Hilton.
The following account is in her words:
Around 7 p.m., Sunday evening, my party of nine (four of whom were hotel guests) arrived at a very quiet Judge Baldwin’s in the Antlers Hotel, to celebrate a birthday. After bringing us a round of drinks, our server clued us in to a party of five also celebrating a birthday and invited us to serenade their table. We did, and they returned the favor.
Minutes later, the assistant manager leaned over my shoulder and advised us to “Tone it down.”
Sitting in silence, one of the guests at my table turned to address our server when another server approached and began yelling, noting that we had lost her a table with kids from across the room.
My tablemate shot back: “You don’t get to bark at me like some junkyard dog.” And in a flame-out of grand proportions, the employee yelled back: “Fuck you, I don’t give a shit, it’s my last night,” before storming off.
Stunned and with drinks barely touched, we decided to leave. We paid our tab, and my guest then approached the manager with cash to be given to the angry server, to make up for her lost tip.
This was a situation you hope never to see: being berated for singing “Happy Birthday” and then watching someone get F-bombed by a server.
Saying he was “mortified,” the assistant manager requested the room number for one of the hotel guests, but nothing came of it.
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