I'm not proud to admit it but I was victim to a scam or two in my time in restaurants. One of the more memorable occasions was in New York City shortly after I first became the bar manager at El Toritos.

During a Friday afternoon shift, lunch was just winding down when I was told I had a phone call. A friendly, unfamiliar voice addressed me by name. He introduced himself as Rich and asked if I recognized him from among the bar regulars. I have always been terrible with names and I was embarrassed but I had to admit I didn't know who he was. He described himself as the heavyset gentlemen that frequently sat upstairs in the bar and drank scotch. An image immediately came to mind.

Rich told me he was calling to confirm a large reservation for that night and needed to ask me a favor. He realized it was very short notice but was wondering if I could prepare a cake for his party. I had to tell him that there was no way we could do that but if he bought one in we would be happy to serve it. He was very pleasant and understanding. We chatted for a minute or two, he asked if I would be there when he arrived for dinner, and I said goodbye and hung up, feeling good about my growing repoire with the guests.

A few hours later Rich was again on the phone but this time he sounded a bit agitated. He told me his son was a few blocks away and needed some help. He had gone down to the drugstore to pick up some medicine for his ailing infant. The poor baby had an earache and in his haste to rush down to get the prescription Rich's son had left his wallet home. He asked me if his son could quickly swing by and pick up sixty bucks so he wouldn't have to go all the home and then all the way back again. Of course he would pay me back at seven. I'm always reluctant to part with money but I felt I couldn't say no to one of my regulars.

The young, blonde haired man came in a few minutes after I agreed to lay out the cash. He looked a little frantic. I wished his son a speedy recovery as I handed him sixty dollars from out of my pocket. He was very appreciative of my kindness and he rushed back out onto Fifth Avenue.

I don't remember exactly when I knew for sure that I had been robbed. It may have been at half past seven when I instructed the busboys to break down the table we had assembled for Rich's reservation, it may have been later that night, or it may have even been a few days later when I asked my main bartender, Joe, to identify the familiar, heavyset, gentlemen who was sitting down at the end of the bar drinking a scotch.

"You mean, Don?" he said, confirming what I already knew.

No one ever knew about my foolishness that night but even still the humiliation stung worse than the loss of my money. I have never forgotton those feelings as I learned some valuable lessons early on in my management career. I learned to be very careful about believing what I was told and to never base my descisions on a desire to be accepted and a fear of saying, 'No'.