I didn’t used to be. I used to be a literalist and the most gullible simpleton on the planet.

Old me: Don’t waste your time telling me a joke; I won’t get it. Don’t kid with me and expect a laugh; I won’t figure out you’re kidding until you tell me you’re kidding.

Current me, nine months into this business: Yeah, whatever.

That’s right, I don’t always believe a person’s introductory line at my podium–for good reason. I have addressed this sad reality in previous posts. Burn me once–shame on you; burn me twice–blah, blah, blah.

So, when a meticulously dressed gentleman walked up to my podium at 3:30 on Friday afternoon and told me he was a famous R&B singer’s bodyguard, I didn’t blink.

I also didn’t believe him.

“Yes, um, I am [famous R&B singer]‘s bodyguard. She would like to dine here and I’ll need a table for six.”

“Certainly, sir,” I smiled, because you never know, right? “When would you like a reservation for, this evening?”

“No, not for tonight,” he replied, glancing out the front door. “She’s outside waiting in the car. She’d like to come in right now.”

“Oh, well, that’s no problem,” I replied, pretty sure he wasn’t for real. “I have several booths open that are perfect for six people.”

“I won’t be sitting with her, of course. I’ll be at another table, or standing just outside the room.”

No, of course you wouldn’t sit with her. At that moment, though, a tiny inkling of believability was creeping into his side of the conversation.

“She also needs a table in a quiet, private part of the restaurant, where she won’t be bothered.”

“I understand, sir,” I smiled, knowing we only had several sections open at this quieter time of the day, and there was nothing private about any of those tables. “But, you realize we are a public restaurant, and the table I have in mind is surrounded by other tables and other patrons, although it’s not very busy right now.”

The inkling of believability was growing into a distinct possibility of truthfulness. And yet, I wasn’t 100 percent convinced.

The guy could be here on a dare, part of some bachelor-party prank or something. He could be hanging around with a celebrity look-alike, trying to pass her off as the real thing–just to see if he could. He could be nothing more than a…nobody.

But I decided to go along with his story. Why not? It was quiet and almost quitting time for me.

Sure, let’s play, pal.

“I realize this is a public restaurant. It’s just that we’d like the quietest table to you have available. I’d really appreciate it. Whatever you can do for us.”

Hmm. He was nice, polite, and not overtly demanding. What the heck–I’m in.

“Sir, I’ll be happy to take care of [famous R&B star] at a table that should work quite well.”

“Great!” he practically gushed. “I’ll let her know. She’ll be right in.”

He turned toward the front door and paused. “What’s your name,” he asked. “I’m Joseph, and you have been really helpful and nice about all this.”

“No problem, Joseph,” I answered, now mesmerized by his graciousness. If he was a scam, he was good. “I’m Restaurant Gal, and I am the head maitre’d here. Happy to help.”

The second he stepped outside to get his celebrity charge, I grabbed a server and asked, “Would you know [famous R&B singer] if you saw her? I know her music, but I’m not sure I would recognize her in person.”

“Sure, is she really here?” the waiter asked, glancing around.

“Maybe. Hang out here with me and watch,” I told him, nodding at the front door.

We were not disappointed. In she walked, with five friends. Joseph followed behind her.

The waiter’s mouth dropped. She must be for real.

Cool!

We seated her in a closed section. Servers, bussers, and hosts were told to leave her alone. And she ended up having a great time for an hour and a half.

About half-way through her meal, however, three more friends stopped in and asked for her bodyguard by name, using it like a secret password with me.

“Yes, right this way, gentlemen,” I discreetly said, walking them toward her table. But as they walked ahead of me toward her table, I noticed they were wearing jackets with the words “[famous R&B singer] Road Crew” embroidered on the backs.

So much for discretion.

In the end, they loved the place. No idea if she was in town for a concert, a movie, or for any other reason. I just know she dined with us for a brief time and headed back out to her car.

And the next time someone tells me a famous personality is waiting in the wings to eat at our restaurant?

Yeah, whatever.

We are just coming off a wait. I make the out-of-towners wait in the foyer while I try to find a table that’s re-set. I return a few minutes later, and ask them to follow me, seating them in one of the quietest and least public areas of the restaurant. I chit chat about the weather, the holiday, whatever. He keeps his eyes downcast. She glares at me. Okay, I can take a hint. No chit chat.

Within minutes, a steady stream of waiters, host staff, and one patron with pen and cocktail napkin in hand are wandering by the couple’s table. Turns out, he’s some big R&B singer, or at least used to be big until a falling out with a movie star wife.

I have to plead with the host staff not to ask for photos (one girl got a busser to go down the street to buy a disposable camera!), autographs, or ANYTHING. “You can thank him by name for coming in, that’s it,” I say. Which the prettiest girl on the staff does.

He looks her right in the eye and beams. “Thanks,” he says. She nearly swoons.

And I made him wait in the foyer for a table. Hey, it’s all good.

Not that I would ever ask…

The first time the coach and his assistant walked in, the restaurant had been open for only a few weeks. We were packed, and I was handing out pagers like after-dinner mints. I told the coach, who I didn’t know was the coach, what I was telling everyone–half-hour wait.

Now, to the coach’s credit (and his assistant’s, for that matter), they didn’t pull the “Do you know who I am?” routine. Not at all. But I kind of wish they had. Because I had no clue who they were.

They looked perplexed, asked about getting a table again, and shrugged and walked out when I gave them the same response about a wait. “Well, we can’t wait that long. Maybe next time.”

Later that evening, I was watching highlights of the game on TV, saw the coach, and gasped. That was the guy in my foyer! The least I could have done was put the man at the top of the wait list. Because I am guessing he comes in all the time when the team is playing at home and that my manager would like him to be a VIP regular–duh.

But yesterday was all good. In he walked at noon. I just waved him upstairs to the other podium with assurances he’d have a nice table. I even remembered to wish him good luck for the game that night. He laughed and said “Thanks.” I guess he realized I finally realized who the heck he was.

I love local celebs who don’t make a big deal about who they are.