Undercover Waitress: Are Valentine's Day Reservations Psychotic?

That prime two-top you scored six weeks ago might not be signaling what you want it to signal...

The kitchen gets all the attention, but what about FOH? That’s where worlds collide. Our anonymous columnist (who is currently in search of a job at a new restaurant) suffers the tribulations of table service for your entertainment, and perhaps enlightenment, too. Today, she takes on the trope of the coveted Valentine’s Day reservation.

Picture This, Girls:

February 14th. 4:45 p.m. You’re running late. You shoot off an apologetic text to your date as you swaddle yourself in layers. It is both an effort to ward off the frigid winter and an attempt to disguise your cocktail attire before it becomes socially acceptable to begin drinking. You recognize you are not remotely hungry yet, but still rush out the door for your 5 p.m. reservation.​

Scrambling through the door, you spot him by the host stand, anxiously checking his watch. Instead of a sweet, festive peck on the cheek, his attention is swiftly diverted to the host stand. No hello, simply “We are all here.”

The hostess leads you to a long line of two-tops, sandwiched shoulder to shoulder and performatively gazing at one another with complimentary glasses of cheap champagne. You apologize for being late. He tells you unconvincingly that it’s ok, he just really didn’t want to lose the table.​

As the winter temperatures dropped and swiping season set in, you were impressed by his initiative to see you a handful of times in quick succession. And when he dmed you asking you to be his Valentine, you were touched and a little surprised. But as you glance at the Pre-Fix menu ahead of you, it all becomes clear.​

He definitely made this reservation before he met you.

Men: what you think this signals vs what it really signals

Since the turn of the 20th century, jaded single friends have disavowed Valentine’s Day as a Hallmark holiday, a day for the candy and greeting card companies to capitalize on our existential fear of being alone. But it seems to me, February 14th has a new puppet master. The show is now run by one powerful entity: Big Reservation.

Said reservation wranglers begin fueling our anxieties early. “National Reservation Reminder Day” falls on January 13th – not literally, I just made that up, but the logic tracks, because that’s when the whispering starts. Chiding email marketing messages and the dreaded notify lists that threaten you with impending loneliness, warning you that not being able to secure a table is like the modern equivalent of never securing a mate.

You see, men used to go to war; now they sit at their laptops, sweaty-palmed, waiting for the reservation platforms to open the books. These men aren’t storming beaches anymore; they are booking a two-top at 6:15 p.m. 4-6 weeks in advance. It’s tragic, but TikTok has found your favorite spot, and a Finance Bro is shilling out $25K a year on his Dorsia membership to make sure he can eat there at 7 p.m. on a Friday.

It’s all very American Psycho. Reservations are now a status symbol, everyone of course knows that, and technology has turned it into a blood sport. As a man, especially one trying to signal something in this city, where you sit down for dinner on February 14th is just about as important as the watch you wear on your wrist. So no, your Raya match isn’t making a grand romantic gesture; he’s working on a power play.​

It takes a true Patrick Bateman to secure a Valentine’s Day reservation at a top spot. At this point, 7 p.m. at [insert hotspot here] isn’t sexy, it’s borderline psychotic. A 5 p.m. Pre-Fix with a two-hour time limit on tables isn’t going to set your night up for success. Truthfully, gentlemen, it makes you look like a chudd.

Preemptive and prescriptive plans can lead to disaster, resentment, and ridiculous cancellation fees. Real romance doesn’t fit neatly into a Tetris-style POS. It requires spontaneity (remember that?), not the stifling rigidity of a reservation.

I mean, truthfully, what’s more romantic than huddling close together in the vestibule and hoping for a cancellation? There’s nothing sexier than a finagle. Or just go to the bar and get trashed, forget about dinner altogether, nobody wants to fuck on a full stomach anyway.