You Gotta Have Balls Read online

  Know your place in the order of things.

  Recognize that even though you may be working long hours, you might not be entitled to a raise if you're still a trainee at your company. Only after pinpointing your place in the order of things can you figure out how to move forward. A trainee should strive to move up the ladder, not to get a raise.

  Win if you can, lose if you must, but always cheat.

  Here, cheating means asking What Else, going the extra mile, gaining an edge. If you're trying to do a deal with someone, figure out what you can do for them beyond the parameters of the deal. Figure out how you can separate yourself.

  You don't need to win every time to be a winner; you only need to win 51 percent of the time.

  In business, you're not going to win every time. But you'll definitely lose more often if you don't take that risk, don't go for that new idea. In the end, being a winner means getting it right only a majority of the time. So don't be afraid to fail sometimes and don't let those failures overshadow your successes.

  Don't snarl about customer requests. Embrace these requests.

  We're living in a time when everyone wants to customize, personalize everything. You can say no to special requests, but before you do, try to be someone whose first instinct is to try to honor those requests. Don't let the word “no” become a reflex.

  Acknowledge that you might be wrong, even when you know you're right.

  Sometimes when you're trying to get someone to see your point, it pays to say “I may be wrong, but…” That will open up the other person to actually listening to your side of things, rather than dismissing your take out of hand—as they might think you're doing if you don't say that.

  In the days and weeks that followed, the truths began to sink in. I could see them in action as I looked around at Skylights and watched my team and our customers. Or as was more often the case, I could see them missing in action. That gave me an idea.

  On my next day off, I drove around the neighborhood and found an event space I could rent per night. Then I passed out fliers to the Hyatt staff. They said:

  TIP$ ON TIP$

  TAUGHT BY RESTAURANT CONSULTANT BRANDON STEINER

  HOW TO MAKE WORKING

  IN THE

  HOSPITALITY INDUSTRY

  WORK FOR YOU!

  for servers and managers

  Steiner guarantees:

  a 33% increase in tip totals

  a 20% increase in sales

  or your money back! ($25)

  I used my own experiences in food service—Sussex, the Hyatt, and so on—to breathe life into JJ's truths, and I wrapped it all up in a neat little presentation. I gave my little seminar six or so times; it was a small cult hit with food service employees in the area.

  A couple of months later, I spotted JJ at Skylights one night. I was very excited to see him.

  “I've been giving a talk based on the truths,” I told him. “You should come by and hear it.” I gave him a flier.

  Sure enough, JJ showed up at my talk the next night. But after about 20 minutes, I noticed him leaving. I was crushed.

  I saw him a couple of nights later, back at the restaurant.

  “Why did you leave the other night?” I asked him.

  “I've never seen someone explain the truths as effectively as you did,” he said. “I felt overwhelmed.”

  I knew then that I really was an effective manager. I felt more confident than ever in my abilities to lead people.

  To this day, I'm always looking for new people to look up to, mentors like JJ. Many of us—myself included—make the mistake of thinking we're done learning from others after we achieve some level of success or contentment. But it's crucial to constantly find new role models in your life, people who have been through things you're yet to experience: colleagues, business associates, authors, speakers, even celebrities. Though most of us aren't in school anymore, teachers are all around us.

  Chapter 5

  Getting the Raise, Then the Job

  I ended up staying in Baltimore and working at the Hyatt for two-and-a-half years; I did some work as a consultant to other hotels and restaurants for six months after that. I gained invaluable experience running those two hotel restaurants. It was the first time I had to put on a suit and tie to go to work, read profit and loss (P & L) statements, and manage a group of people. It was an exhausting, emotionally-taxing time during which I barely slept. But it was amazing. I was meeting so many people and consuming so much.

  And what made it even better was that the hotel was a big success. The company initially had concerns about opening a hotel in an area undergoing transition, but it had had one of the best openings in the company's history, with around 90 percent occupancy. I performed so well that I even ended up doing some lecturing at the nearby Food and Beverage School at Essex Community College.

  But my heart was still in New York, and I returned home in the fall of 1984. By this time, my mom was living in Rockaway, Queens, and I wasn't a big fan of the area. It's a beach community where one of the biggest pastimes was lying around in the sand all day, looking at the waves. I looked for a job as a restaurant manager, but I couldn't find anything; so I started doing some consulting work.

  One day, I heard someone mention a new restaurant chain called Hard Rock Café. I had never heard of it, but apparently it was a hip restaurant that had already opened locations in London and Los Angeles. Now it was coming to New York; this location was going to be twice the size of the one in Los Angeles and 10 times that of London. It was definitely the next big thing

  I had to get a job there.

  I knew that thousands of people were going to be applying for jobs at the Hard Rock, but that didn't deter me. I wanted it badly; why would I let someone else get it without even trying?

  I interviewed for an assistant general manager position at the midtown restaurant, with its signature façade: the front of a Cadillac bursting through the brick wall exterior. The management liked me well enough to call me back for a second interview, with the owner, Isaac Tigett.

  I met Isaac at his apartment in the Sheffield, a swanky apartment building on 57th Street. I was wearing my best navy suit, and sporting a new, shorter haircut. I wanted to look like a pretty conservative guy. Even though I didn't have a job at the moment, my success at the Hyatt led me to consider myself a real manager—and I wanted to look the part.

  Meanwhile, Isaac had long black hair and a beard, and he was wearing a black suit. I'd learn that he usually wore black. He was from Nashville, and always looked like he had just stepped out of the Grand Ole Opry.

  “I have to find a way to stand out to this guy,” I thought. “He's clearly not a typical restaurant owner.” In addition to talking about my experience at the Hyatt, I told him the whole story about the bagels, the Button, anything I could think of that might resonate with him. I assumed he liked me, because the interview lasted well over an hour.

  “You're a very interesting young man,” Isaac said, finally wrapping it up. “I've really enjoyed this conversation.”

  I thought the job was in the bag.

  Then as I was walking out, on the floor I saw, of all things, an NCR-2160—the machine from the Hyatt Hotel. I walked back in.

  “Excuse me,” I said, “but are you guys using the NCR-2160?”

  The general manager, Eric Crisman—who had been in on part of the interview—popped his head in, as if on cue.

  “What do you know about the 2160?” he said.

  “I know a little bit about it,” I said. “Hyatt basically designed the 2160 with NCR. It's their baby.”

  “NCR keeps trying to get us to use it, because we're going to be a multilocation operation,” he said. “I'm really nervous about it. It's never been done before.”

  “I'm your guy,” I said. “I know this thing.”

  Now, I really thought I had the job.

  Long story short, I didn't get the job.

  I was devastated. I was pissed off. I had had
my eye on working for one of three companies: the Hard Rock, the Helmsley Hotel, or the Plaza. They were the best in their industries. And I didn't get a job with any of them.

  With no better alternative, I accepted an offer to be the food and beverage director at a renovated Holiday Inn Crowne Plaza that was about to reopen in Danbury, Connecticut.

  When I got there, I could immediately see that I not only knew more about the business than the current food and beverage director, but also more than the general manager. It wasn't good. I had just opened up a 250-seat restaurant in a brand-new upscale hotel in Baltimore, and now I was puttering around and living in a Holiday Inn Crowne Plaza in Danbury, Connecticut.

  In 1984, Danbury was a relatively small, desolate town, and it seemed like it was always freezing outside. The hotel provided little solace; it was as cold and lonely as the town, except indoors. I felt like Jack Nicholson in The Shining. I was miserable. One weekend I went home, intending to go back to Connecticut on Monday morning just to quit.

  “I'm done with this business,” I said to my mother. “I'm finished.”

  “Why don't you go back to the Hard Rock?” she said. “See how they're doing. They just opened up the other day. I promise you, whenever people open up a new business, everything they thought they were going to do changes. Go and check.”

  I still wanted to work there. What did I have to lose? On my way up to Connecticut Monday morning, I stopped by the Hard Rock. I grabbed my only Cowboy hat out of the backseat, and asked if Isaac was there.

  He wasn't, but Eric Crisman was. I was directed to his office.

  “It's been a while,” I said. “How's the 2160 treating you?”

  Eric's eyebrows went up like a drawbridge.

  “Oh my God, you wouldn't believe it,” he said. “We've had so many files go down. No one knows what's going on.”

  “Sounds like you're having some problems,” I said.

  “Oh, we're having some problems.”

  “I wanted to remind you that I'm available for consulting,” I told him. “If you need anything, give me a call.”

  Eric said he appreciated me stopping by. It was a quick visit; I was in and out.

  I ended up spending three more days in Danbury helping out—after giving my notice. Then I returned to New York and moved back in with my mother.

  I had been home for less than two hours and was still unpacking when the phone rang. It was a manager at the Hard Rock asking me to come in.

  “We need your help with some problems,” he said “Can you come in tomorrow morning?”

  That's how fast your luck can change.

  It was pouring rain when I got down there. I met with seven managers. They asked me some questions about the NCR-2160, just as I had expected, but their main problem was that the restaurant wasn't running very smoothly or efficiently at night—and they needed someone to turn that around.

  During the day, a manager named Joyce Faiola ran the place. Joyce had been hired away from iconic New York restaurant Tavern on the Green. She ran a tight ship, and the Hard Rock needed someone to carry that atmosphere into the evenings after her shift was over.

  The managers quizzed me on every possible dining contingency. As far as I was concerned, they couldn't ask me the questions fast enough. Hard Rock was one of the first truly large restaurants, with 250 to 300 seats; its business model happened to be right in my wheelhouse. At the Hyatt, I had essentially been a crisis manager for a high-end restaurant of that size, replete with new equipment and huge bursts of customers that were constantly streaming in. I had become adept at that type of staffing, level of traffic, and the kinds of crises that occur in that size establishment. Really, that was the only type of restaurant I knew. I saw so much room for improvement as I looked around the Hard Rock—so many areas where my experience would come in handy. My interviewers could see that I was high energy—that I knew what I was talking about, and would hit the ground running if they hired me.

  This time, I got a job offer. It had taken three separate rounds of interviews, three different iterations of the same job search at the same restaurant, but I had stuck to it—and I was finally in.

  The Hard Rock offered me a position as a manager—the job I had originally applied for weeks earlier. They said they'd pay me a salary of $25,000; the most I had ever made before was $22,500. All of the other managers were between 30 and 40 years old; I was 24. All things considered, it was a pretty attractive—and flattering—offer. But I felt I had some leverage, and I suspected they weren't aware of how much they actually needed me.

  “I'm not interested in a manager job,” I said. “Absolutely not.”

  It might have seemed as though Hard Rock had the leverage, as I had no other prospects and was living with my mother. But I knew I was going to be an asset to the place, and I was determined to act the part.

  “You need somebody to come in here and really take charge,” I said. “Let me be the assistant general manager, at $36,000. I'll run the whole place. Give me a two-month trial period, and if everything works out, I want my salary increased to $41,000. If it doesn't work after three months, you'll get rid of me, anyway.”

  Sometimes, it's wise to negotiate your first raise before you even get started!

  If you're confident you're going to be an asset to your new team—and particularly if they want you for a high risk–high reward position—let them know just how valuable you're going to be while hammering out the starting salary. Put your worth where your mouth is by requesting more compensation after a certain period—in exchange for taking less up front. In most cases, it's a perfectly equitable arrangement—and what's more, it'll show them you mean business.

  I had yet another reason for asking for more dough. Most of the managers at the Hard Rock were making $30,000 to $50,000. Since I was going to be younger than my staff, I needed to be the second-highest paid manager; there had to be something that made it clear to everyone that I was in charge.

  In the end, they were convinced. The Hard Rock took me on as an assistant general manager—responsible for running the place at night, in charge of a staff of about 70.

  My first night on the job at the Hard Rock, the problems that had been plaguing the restaurant were evident all around me.

  Since the restaurant was extremely busy from open to close every night, some people who worked at the Hard Rock seemed to have the feeling that they didn't need to work all that diligently—that reputation alone would keep people coming. And with celebrities and rock stars constantly streaming in and out, some on staff took it for granted that the service was good. But in reality, it was poor and inefficient.

  There were too many managers and waiters who thought they were part of a rock-and-roll consortium, running around in leather jackets every night, more focused on star “copulating” than cooking, serving food, and bussing tables. The staff was sloppy and disorganized. The restaurant was run so poorly that for the past couple of weeks, purses had regularly been snatched from the upstairs bar at night, and no one had done anything about it yet. It was a total circus. I had fought like hell for that job, and I was determined to make my mark. I couldn't get sucked into the orbits of the stars. I had a restaurant to run.

  Don't get me wrong; I wasn't immune to the scene. Every night felt like an Oscar party. It wasn't unusual to see Elton John and Jackson Browne at a table, splitting an order of cheese fries and arguing about El Salvadorian politics, or to spot Jack Nicholson and Mick Jagger at a table in the back, sipping martinis and eyeing the “talent.” I saw people like Wayne Gretzky and Lawrence Taylor; one night Willie Nelson got up and peed all over the bar.

  Maybe it wasn't Studio 54, but it was a lot closer to that than a Denny's. It was hard not to get caught up in the scene. The Hard Rock was like an unending Mardi Gras: always a crush of people everywhere you looked—on the floor, at the tables, at the bar, at the door, by the restrooms. Music was blasting and cooks were yelling and waiters were flying around like armies of wasps.
And I was in the center of it all, trying to pull the right strings. Every day was a new adventure.

  I was extremely focused from the first second of my first night. I made sure everyone did every little thing to a tee. No detail was small enough to avoid my utmost attention. I even made sure the cakes in the display behind the bar were always fresh.

  One night I noticed that we were running low on silverware. Some people on staff suggested I just order another shipment, but I didn't feel that that was the appropriate way to address the issue. Problems wouldn't always be that easy to solve.

  “How much you wanna bet there is silverware in the trash at this very moment?” I asked a group of waiters. “If we don't find any, I'll give you each ten bucks. But if we do, you guys pay me 10 dollars per utensil.”

  When I dumped out the trash bags, several forks and knives clanged onto the tile floor. The staff hadn't been throwing out silverware on purpose, but everyone was in such a hurry that they weren't paying enough attention to the individual tasks.

  I worked on retraining the staff to see the bigger picture—to understand how each person's job and each duty they performed, no matter how small, was crucial to everyone else's performance (which in turn affected the bottom line and, more importantly to them, their tips). And just as every detail was important, so was every employee. In the winter, I brought soup to the bouncers who managed the line outside; in the summer, I brought them iced tea. If a dishwasher couldn't make it to work for some reason, I'd take over.

  One of my strengths as a manager has always been my credibility with my employees. I don't consider myself separate from or above them. They know that if push were to come to shove, I'd get down in the proverbial muck with them in a heartbeat. And while establishing this dynamic was important to me at every managerial job I had in my career, I'd never had a more tangible way of proving it than I did one night at the Hard Rock.