Tasting Room

"Bryan, how do you do it?" asked Dave.

"Do what?" I asked back.

"Dude, we've been working the same slow afternoon shift here at the tasting room and your tips are literally 3 times mine!" Dave complained. "We've worked the same number of groups. I don't get it!"

"It's all about 'The Process'," I said.

Dave was a young new server/sommelier in training at Willow Ridge winery, here in the heart of Sonoma. He wasn't doing well at all in his new job. His previous job was at some dive bar. It left him with a lot of bad habits.

"The process?" Dave asked quizzically.

"Yes, 'The Process'," I explained. "Your approach is all wrong. This isn't some bar slinging cheap alcohol at twenty somethings. This is a winery. You need to take your time. Get to know your clientele. Jeez, you nearly doused wine all over the gentleman at the last table you were serving! Why the fuck are you rushing everything?

"I'm just trying to keep up," Dave explained. "I feel like I'm always behind. I don't know how you do it. You always seem like you're in control, even when we're mobbed. Seems like on our busiest days I'm rushing around just trying to get wine in front of these people. You, on the other hand, seem like you are holding court, shaking hands, getting looks from every available woman. Everyone knows you, I don't get it."

"You have to trust 'The Process'," I reiterated, just as Charles, a longtime patron of Willow Ridge, stepped up to the tasting counter.

"Charles, sir! Good to see you again," I said as I reached out for a firm handshake. "Let me guess, you're here to try the new Cabernet we've just released."

"Excellent guess, Bryan," said Charles. "But of course, I want to hear from you what you think of it before I take the plunge."

"Well Charles, why don't we take the plunge together," I said as I placed two red wine glasses and a small decanter on the counter. I poured the wine into the decanter and continued my convo with Charles.

"You're in a little early today Charles, are they getting soft over at your law firm?" I asked. I swirled the decanter demonstrably in front of him, letting the wine soak up a little oxygen while mesmerizing him with the red elixir.

"Ha, fat chance of that!" replied Charles. "Lucky for me we just settled on a big liability case, so I was able to take the rest of the day. Figured I'd make the most of it!"

"Well then, you came to the right place," I replied. "You're going to like this one Charles, It's one of the best vintages in a long time. Bold up front, but finishes with notes of chocolate and vanilla. It's complex. Beats last year's vintage hands down. It's right up your alley." I poured the wine from the decanter into the two glasses, making sure Charles received the lion's share.

"Let me taste for myself then," replied Charles.

We did the dance of the professional wine tasters. See, swirl, sniff, sip and savor. Or at least I did, Charles practically gargled his wine. I guess he was trying to show off.

"So what's the verdict, counselor?" I asked.

"Oh boy...that's really good!" He announced. "I came in to get a case of your Malbec, but now I don't know what I'm going to buy!"

"Well, you can't go wrong with the Malbec," I said. "Here, tell you what, let me set you up at a table with both wines and some curated cheeses. I think it will help you make up your mind."

"Thanks, Bryan! Excellent idea as usual," replied Charles. I ducked back into the kitchen and put in the custom cheese order then led him over to a table with two full pours. I headed back over to Dave.

"Learn anything?" I asked Dave.

"What? You poured a dude some wine. What was I supposed to learn?" said Dave as he looked at me with a blank stare.

"Jesus Dave," I glared back. "Were you paying any attention at all? I practically spelled it all out for you right there. You're a basket case. I give up."

"No...wait," stammered Dave. "I want to learn the process."

"I'm not sure you'll get it," I complained. "If I do this, teach you 'The Process', do you promise to put your heart into it? If you don't, you'll just go down in flames."

"Yes, yes, I'll do it!" clamored Dave. "I need to get more tips, I'll do anything!"

"Dude, this isn't about just getting more tips," I started. "You need to put that out of your mind."

"Then what's the point?" asked Dave.

"The point is to master 'the Process'. Once you do, the tips will flow in, along with other things," I counseled.

"Other things?" asked Dave.

"Look, are you ready to commit to this?" I asked. "You said yourself that you feel like you can barely keep up."

"Yeah, Yeah, I'll commit. Really I will." pleaded Dave.

"OK young padawan," I said with a smirk. "The Process is tried and true. Master it and you too will reap the rewards. Increased tips are just the beginning. All kinds of things will start coming your way. You'll have more friends than you can count. You'll be part of the 'in crowd'. I can't tell you how many celebrity parties I've been to. You'll get perks left and right. Discounts, gifts, stock tips, you name it."

"I don't believe you," Dave commented.

"There's more," I continued. "And it's the best part. The women. Once you master 'The Process' you'll have no problems getting some of these luscious ladies to follow you to the bedroom. Once I finally mastered "The Process' it's been a veritable cavalcade of pussy!"

"I had that at the bar!" protested Dave.

"I doubt it," I countered. "Sure, maybe you had a girl or two bounce on your knob because they wanted free drinks. That's not what I'm talking about here. I'm talking about having a real relationship with a real woman. Not some random hookup."

"Well, I'm not interested in getting married," protested Dave.

"Look, you do what you want with it," I explained. "But 'The Process' will help you put your shoes under her bed. Sure, sometimes it only ends up being a one night stand, but they always end up apologizing to me if they can't go beyond that. Not the other way around."

"Don't you get your feelings hurt then?" asked Dave.

"A little," I responded. "But it's all part of the game. There's always someone new if I get dumped. Besides, at this point I pick and choose. I'm not a scoundrel or a cheater. I don't keep multiple irons in the fire. I just enjoy the chase."

"Somehow I get the feeling that you're pulling my leg," said Dave just as Charles returned with a grin.

"Well, Charles. Have you decided how you're going to celebrate your big settlement win?" I asked.

"Sure have, Bryan!" Charles responded. "I'll take the case of Malbec and TWO cases of the new Cabernet!"

"You sir are a true connoisseur!" I bellowed. "Here, let me ring you up. I know you're already part of our Founder's Club. Let me comp the tastings and cheese. It was good seeing you again!"

"Thanks Bryan!" Charles said as he signed his receipt. I got one of our stock runners to help Charles wheel his purchase to his car. I turned to Dave and showed him the tip on the receipt.

"Shit!" exclaimed Dave. "Ok. You win. Teach me the process. I want tips like that!"

"You have much to learn Padawan," I teased. "Ok. Rule #1. Always call the customer by their name. This is non-negotiable. You need to be able to remember and use their names as you greet them. It's all about making the customer feel like they are the most important person in the room."

"I've never had to do that before!" protested Dave. "I suck at remembering names."

"So did I, back in the day," I explained. "'The Process' requires you to focus on the customer. Remember, their experience is what you are trying to improve. When you first meet, actually listen to them. Get their name. Use it in conversation. It takes loads of practice, but addressing someone by their name makes them feel like you care. It boosts self worth. The elation they feel as you greet them already gives you a leg up."

"But we see thousands of folks here all the time!" protested Dave. "How am I supposed to remember them all?"

"You won't," I continued. "But you will start remembering the customers who tip the best, and also those that are more important to you. Take Charles for example, I haven't seen him in months, but he's a good customer and is a great tipper now."

"What do you mean by 'now'?" asked Dave.

"He never tipped before I started," I said. "In fact, most of the other servers would ignore him for that reason. I took the time to listen to him, use his name, even learn his tasting preferences. Now look at the guy. He couldn't wait to spend his bonus! We get a sales boost and I get the great tip. 'The Process' works."

"Ok. But how do I start matching faces and names?" asked Dave. "I'm lucky if I remember my sister's name if I haven't seen her in a while!"

"You are truly pathetic," I said, shaking my head. "Look, what's the thing in your hand that we use to take orders?"

"Our phones?" Dave hesitantly answered.

"Yeah, Einstein," I teased. "Look, when you're taking orders and you want to try to remember the guest. Snap a picture, put it in the photos app with their name and any notes. God I can't believe I have to spell this out for you."

"Ok...Name...Picture...Got it," said Dave.

"Do you really? I asked.

"Sure. Sure. No problem." replied Dave.

"Good. Here comes a new group," I said. "I know them, but I'm going to let you work this one. See the brunette? She's about your age and very available. Go over there and take your time with them. By the time you come back I want you to be able to tell me her name and favorite wine."

"Gotcha, No Problem. This will be easy," announced Dave as he headed over to the guests. He led the group to a table.

I kept half an eye on Dave while I wiped down some glassware. Here I was, all of 29 years old and now I was the Jedi Master. My thoughts drifted back to when I had this same conversation with my "master", Earl, when I had just started this job six years ago. Earl looked to me like I probably look to Dave right now. I smiled when I thought that I probably wasn't quite as hopeless back then as Dave was now.

I glanced back up at Dave just in time to catch the flash from his phone camera. It blinded me and everyone at the table in front of him. The young lady at the table screamed, "Why are you taking my picture?"

I shook my head in disgust while I high tailed it over to their table. "Sorry folks, Dave over here is just training on our new ordering system. He must have swiped the wrong app on his phone. Sorry about the inconvenience. Let me get you a complimentary tasting flight while I straighten out this noob." I dragged Dave back to the counter.

"Jesus Dave, when I said 'take a picture', I meant on the sly, not blind everyone in a 5 mile radius!" I admonished him as I dragged him by the arm.

"Sorry! Sorry! On the sly. Right!" Dave said.

"You're hopeless," I was still shaking my head. "Did you at least get her name like I asked?"

"Uh...yeah...it's Rhoda...I think," replied Dave.

"Her name is Rachel, you imbecile," I scolded. This was going to be harder than I thought.

--

Thursday night was the next time Dave and I were on the same schedule. Frankly, I wasn't looking forward to it. Dave really was pathetic at this. I heard from some of our other coworkers that overall tips plummeted whenever he worked. He was so bad he was pulling down everyone around him.

"Dude!" yelled Dave. "That 'Process' of yours sucks! If anything my tips are down! I even got slapped across the face by one of the ladies I approached!"

"Who told you to come on to women?" I asked forcefully.

"You did!" responded Dave. "You said it would be a cunt calvary or something..." his voice trailed off as he wilted under my stare.

"Dave, I gave you one rule," I said as I glared at him. "What makes you think you can operate at level 100 with just one rule?"

"Ok...sorry," was all Dave could manage.

"Look, you need to commit to 'The Process'," I reiterated. "You can't short cut these steps. You need to concentrate on names first. Once you finally get that under your belt, then maybe, MAYBE, we can go on to step two." I was already sorry that I had even thought of bringing him under my wing.

"OK...OK," Dave responded "But, I don't think this 'Process' of yours is as foolproof as you think it is."

"Obviously not...if we are talking about you as the fool!" I replied. "You have to at least have some sort of brain in that skull of yours for this to work."

"Fine!" yelled Dave. "But I want more proof about this 'Process' of yours. You can't just use serving that one guy as the only example. Why don't you prove it to me? Show me how you can take home any girl you choose tonight!"

"It doesn't work that way you moron," I replied. "Besides, I don't have to prove shit to you." I was ready to cut ties with Dave right there.

"Oh...so Mr. Level 100 doesn't have what it takes, eh?" laughed Dave. "Look over at table six. She's just been seated, that would be my table. Do you know her?"

I glanced over at the redhead seated at Dave's table. "Nope, she must be a new customer." I replied.

"Fine then, why don't you go over there and show me how you can go from 0 to 60 in just one night!" Dave was trying to bait me into a challenge.

"It doesn't work that way Dickwad!" I said as I was getting more and more angry. "Besides, look at her left hand, she's got a rock. I don't play in another man's sandbox. Life's too fucking short."

"Well, looks like this might be your lucky day!" said Dave as he pointed to the redhead. We both stared as she put her left hand in front of her face, pulled off the ring and threw it into her handbag.

Dave and I both looked at each other. I saw the smirk on his face. If we were back in the alley behind the winery I'd wipe that smirk off his face with one well placed overhand right. But we weren't back in the alley.

"Your table!" Dave said as he bowed and motioned toward that end of the room.

"You're an idiot," I muttered.

--

I took a deep breath as I made my way to table 6. First, I needed to get my temper under control. No way I'd even be able to hold a decent conversation if I was already steamed up. Dave was an asshole. I just needed to leave it at that. I vowed to cut him off from his 'training' as soon as I got back to the counter.

I walked up behind the seated woman. She had taken the chair facing the big picture window as if she wanted to tone out the entire world behind her. She probably had no idea that we'd seen her ditch her wedding ring. It was already a big warning sign and that I'd need to tread lightly.

I walked around the table into full view. "Welcome to Willow Ridge" I said in an easy tone.

She quickly grabbed the tasting menu and held it up in front of her face. But she couldn't hide the fact that there were tears in her beautiful green eyes. Great, I've just stumbled into the aftermath of some marriage breakup. I've seen it so many times, but it's never fun. I guessed it was time for 'Mr. Level 100' to try to help her salvage a small portion of her day.

"Are you waiting for anyone to join you?" I asked, knowing full well the answer.

'Uh...no," was her reply, still hiding behind the piece of paper.

I sighed internally. What do you say to someone who you don't even know but are sure they're about to have an emotional breakdown? There's really only one thing I could do. Shock them out of their self-pity party.

"You don't need that," I stated.

"Wha...what?" she stammered as she looked at me quizzically.

"The menu, you don't need it," I said as I reached over and slowly slid it up and out of her trembling hands. Time to execute level 100.

"I...I don't understand, why not?" she murmured.

"Two reasons," I replied. "First being I'm the head sommelier here at Willow Ridge and for the last few years I've been perfecting my ability to predict the wine that best matches your taste from just two things. Your face and your name. Here, write your first name on this napkin, but don't show me just yet, turn it face down when you're done."

I slid a blank napkin and a pen in front of her.

"Oh...I don't think I need to go through all of that," she responded as she dropped her gaze into her lap. "Just bring me a tasting flight or something."

Cute. They always put up a wall. Good thing crashing through emotional boundaries is a specialty of mine.

"Why would you want to settle for something so...pedestrian?" I asked knowing I would get a rise out of her. Mixing the word pedestrian with anyone who possessed the vivid fire-red curls this lovely lass was sporting was like lighting a match next to gasoline soaked kindling. I waited for the inevitable blowback.

She instantly raised her gaze back into my eyes. I could sense the heat in her ire as she stared back at me with a scowl on her lips and her forehead furrowed. I was undeterred. I met her stare with a piercing one of my own. We stared at each other for more than a few seconds before she backed down with a bit of a smile.

"OK Mr. Sommelier Smarty Pants, I'll play your game," she said with a bit of a weak and raspy voice. It was clear she'd been crying a good portion of the day. I'd need to make slow and methodical steps through this mindfield.

She scribbled her name on the napkin and threw it upside down on the table in front of me. When she raised her eyes back at me she quickly saw that I hadn't released my gaze from her at all. It made her squirm a little.

I made a show of it, examining her features. She was quite the looker. Her fire-red shoulder length curls framed her smooth creamy-white skin. Her eyes were a deep shade of green, although significantly blood-shot due to her emotional state. Her nose was pert and covered with a smattering of freckles. Her lips were thin, but the pink lipstick she had applied accentuated them. She was definitely older. Probably mid-forties range. That would figure to be about right if she was dealing with a mid-life crisis husband.

"Ok...Now tell me your name, but don't spell it out," I asked.

"What for?" she asked.

"Your name is 'whatfor'?" I asked, knowing I was just sparring with her. I wasn't ready yet to let her take control of the conversation.

"No...No," She stammered. "Ok, my name is Riley."

"Riley," I repeated. I let my gaze move up and down again to make it look like I was still checking her out. "Interesting..."

"What's so interesting?" she asked. I noticed she had moved in closer, scooting up to the edge of her seat.

"It's an unusual name...special," I replied. "This one's going to be challenging. It's going to come down to how you spell your name."

She reached out to the napkin but when she went to turn it over I put my hand over hers. "Not yet," I whispered.

She blushed when I touched her hand. She tentatively withdrew it. "I don't see how that even matters," she said.

"It all comes down to the last two letters," I said. She looked back into my eyes. "You're either a Riley with an 'EE' or." I paused for effect. "Or you're a Riley with 'EY'. This was too easy. Her eyes lit up when I said 'EY'. Her tell spurred my next comment.

"I bet you're an 'EY'," I continued. "Your perfect wine starts with spice up front, but with the playfulness of some red cherry. It should have mild acidity, but enough bite to let you know you're drinking something with a little sass. In the end, you demand a long, smooth finish."

Even I was aroused after that description. I decided to pour it on a little thicker. "The wildcard is the 'Y' in your name. It lets me know that although you know what you like and what's safe, you're always open to trying new experiences, to have that rush of excitement. It's that dichotomy in you that made my wine choice for you so challenging." I didn't even look down when I reached for the napkin, flipping it over.