The Pecan is a small, Black-owned business, located in Downtown College Park, Georgia, housed inside of a brick exterior building with a historic Coca-Cola landmark, placed on a strip with other small businesses primarily owned by minorities. The Pecan is hailed as the only fine dining restaurant on the south side of Atlanta, Georgia and is conveniently located across from hotels, a MARTA train station, and the Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport. Those were the reasons why I was so eager to apply for a position there. I filled out an application, came back to the restaurant to follow up, and in a matter of mere days, I was contacted for an interview. Almost instantly after the interview, I was hired as the first male maitre d' the restaurant ever had, based on what the general manager said to me. It was a dream come true! With no previous job experience, I was hired on the spot, scheduled to work on weekend dinner services, Sunday brunch, and Monday dinner service! A few days later, on Tuesday, March 19, 2013, my three-day training began. From there, the troubles started. I accidentally broke the handle off of a pitcher that the general manager just bought on the first day of training and I had a snafu with the coffee machine (thanks to the misguided assistance of one of the coworkers) that caused coffee to spill all over the counter and hardwood floor (the executive chef indefinitely banned me from using the coffee machine).
You would think that a couple of accidents would have been the end of my troubles. Well, they became more frequent and intense. By the second week, I was on my own with controlling the restaurant floor and securing the reservations. I was doing my very best to catch on to the system and to make sure that each server had the appropriate number of tables and guests to accommodate. One Friday night (Good Friday to be exact), I made an accidental error with the number of tables I gave a server, and she became very frustrated with me. It hurt because I wanted to do an excellent job and make the night go smoothly. By week three, the restaurant drama continued. On another night of dinner service, I made another accidental error with a number of tables a server should have had. The result was him taking me outside, right beside the front entrance of the establishment, and "cussing" (not cursing) me out like he was a common hoodlum. I couldn't believe that a man, about 20 or 25 years my senior, would yell at me, spewing out profanity in the middle of work. I couldn't even speak while I was being verbally reprimanded, and I was literally left breathless. While other people would have verbally defended themselves against that profane language, I licked my wounds and basically let him get away with disrespecting me. On another occasion, while preparing for a dinner service, I was trying to fix a tablecloth that I thought was uneven on one corner. I asked one of the servers what he thought about it, and he responded with the question, "Do you take Adderall," in front of the other coworkers. I was filled with shock and embarrassment, because no one ever asked me a question like that before. To add insult to injury, some of the other coworkers began to dissect me, trying to figure what was wrong with me and why I acted the way I did. They had no idea that I had Asperger's Syndrome. Shortly after that, I finally decided to tell the general manager about my autism, in an effort to explain to her why I wasn't really catching on to the system at the speed that she wanted me to, and how it wasn't a case of blatant apathy. She referred to the term as the "A-word," as if it were a vulgar term. I didn't know how to respond to that, but our discussion was in confidence (at least it was supposed to be). There was a moment when I wrote a request for time off on Labor Day Weekend - Black Gay Pride Weekend in Atlanta. When the general manager saw that I wrote those exact words, she told me, in confidence, never to write anything like that again, because in her own words, "the executive chef and the owner wouldn't like it." That didn't really shock me, but I never again made public written references to my sexuality or homosexuality in general.
By the fourth week of work, there was one more incident involving myself and a coworker. He confronted me and accused me of sabotaging the coffee machine while he was preparing the coffee for a brunch service (the ground up coffee was splattered all over the floor), in the presence of some of the other coworkers. I was busy cleaning and prepping the restrooms and never once touched the machine. He was so angry at me, and I believe he wanted to physically strike me. He even broke a Moet champagne bottle and kept pacing around in the kitchen. I was so frustrated, but on the inside, I was nervous and scared. What if he would have physically struck me? What was I going to do? I profusely proclaimed my innocence, but it wasn't enough to quell his anger. At that point, I began to think that my interactions with my fellow coworkers would never be positive or successful. I expressed to the general manager my feelings. She ultimately forbade me to try and socialize with the other coworkers and said that either I come into work tomorrow, or don't and be fired. That made me embarrassed of myself, but still, I kept trying to improve at my job and continued to do my best. I made a vow to myself and to my mother, that I wouldn't quit my job, regardless of the circumstances.
The drama of The Pecan finally reached its climax on Friday, April 26, 2013. I was looking through the reservation list on the computer, and found that one of those reservations belonged to a party of 20. Between 7:30 pm and 8:00 pm, the party of 20 started to arrive. One of those 20 guests had a large bouquet of balloons in her possession. I remember reading on the restaurant policy sheet about no balloons being allowed, but I went to the general manager to make sure that was correct. Her words were, "No balloons, no exceptions." Now, it was up to me as the maitre d' to enforce that restaurant policy to the woman. I had a sinking feeling inside, because she was already inside of the establishment with the balloons, and I didn't want to disappoint her. I got her attention and told her in the most non-policing way that I could about the "no balloons" rule. Nervously with a smile, I said, "Excuse me ma'am, I have good news and bad news: The bad news is that these balloons can't stay, but the good news is that you all can stay." Her mood went from excited to aggravated. She was flabbergasted that the balloons couldn't stay in the restaurant. Me and a server (the same one that "cussed" me out) tried to come up with suggestions on where we could put the balloons. The general manager wanted them out of the restaurant. While I was addressing her as "ma'am," the irritated guest informed me that being called "ma'am" was one of her pet peeves. Being born and raised in the South and being raised to always exhibit good manners, I didn't know what else to call her. The agitated guest then addressed the general manager by saying that she didn't tell her that balloons weren't allowed. The general manager, in bitchy fashion, said that no one told her that someone would bring balloons. All the while, I panicked and was frozen with helplessness. Just when I thought the verbal confrontation couldn't get any worse, one of the female party guests came up to me, violated my personal space, and commenced to spew out a barrage of insults against me, my work ethic, my mannerism, the staff, and the restaurant. I was apologizing profusely and addressing her as politely as I could, but she wouldn't stop her wrath. On the inside, I thought of either pushing her out of my face or turning my back on her and walking away. I had to remember that I wasn't only representing myself, I was representing my mother, my late grandparents, and my household. I was not going to stoop to a trashy and unprofessional level. After I was finished being reprimanded, I rushed over to the bar (where the general manager was standing and witnessing the confrontation for the entire time) angry and shocked, trying to express to her my feelings. I was told by the manager to get back to my post or go home... I went back to my post. She eventually talked to two of the large party guests, and shortly after that, the large party 20 or so guests began to collect their items and leave the restaurant, taking at least a thousand dollars The Pecan could have made that night with them. My highly irritated general manager called me over to the bar, and asked me did I say what I said to the woman with the balloons (the "good news and bad news" statement). I admitted to saying it and her irritation intensified. By the end of the dinner service, for making The Pecan lose money and for causing a negative experience with those many people, I was fired. The irony is that the general manager said that she knew I wasn't being intentionally rude to the guests, yet it was all my fault why they walked out. She also told me that the owner wouldn't keep me once he found out about the situation. Thus, my journey with The Pecan abruptly and unfairly ended. In the condescending words of the narcissistic owner, I didn't fit in at his restaurant and that's why I was let go. To be honest, he was absolutely right. I really didn't fit in at The Pecan. Someone with class, kindness, authenticity, and good manners could never fit in an establishment that is insulting, rude, backstabbing, and intolerant of other people's differences.
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