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Can I Have Your Number?

Rules and reflections on shitting where you eat.

from the cellar

in good company

edges of reason

bottom of the bottle

Can I Have Your Number?

words

Caitlin McInnis

images

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Rules and reflections on shitting where you eat.

I once left my number for one of the waiters at Jim's Greek Tavern; it was my birthday, he was cute and the only waiter under 50. At 1am, he messaged, telling me to come meet him and his girlfriend. I was 22, and so shocked that my actions had consequences, I threw my phone across the room.

I was reminded of that instance the other day while enjoying a glass of wine and a particularly lovely little flirt with someone working behind the bar. After a lifetime working at local, family-run businesses where I know every customer’s coffee order and the state of their marriage, I never leave my number — even when the flirt is really good.

That’s just my stance. Many would disagree with me as the social rules are inconveniently unclear. In an attempt to create some clarity, I conducted some rigorous research (drunk conversations with colleagues) and collected a plethora of nuanced personal opinions with two clear rules everyone could agree on:
‍

Rule no. 1:

Never verbally ask someone out or directly give them your number, simply leave a note on the table.

Rule no. 2:

Don’t do it at your local, unless you are willing to lose it forever.
‍

There is so much at play in the dynamic between customer and front of house (FOH) staff. Hospitality is personal. When you enter a venue and take your place, you are sitting at someone’s table. The staff have invited you into their home, but not in a ‘we’ve just had three martinis and I’ve asked you back to my place’ kind of way. It’s more like you are a random plus-one at dinner in their house. Behave accordingly.

When done well, service is one of the most impressive performances you will ever see or be a part of. There is nothing quite like watching skilled staff weave their way around the stage of a restaurant holding grace, elegance and care in equal check with urgency and the threat of collapse. I will always revere the server who can fluff and fuck (to put it crudely) a customer into switching tables and have them coming out feeling like the Queen of Sheeba.

Venues are a theatre for care and conviviality that suspend, for a moment, the outside world or at least make it all seem far more palatable. The scene is set with low lighting and music. Doors open, patrons take their seats, and are welcomed to the show with a menu and the choice of still or sparkling. The curtain goes up. Act one: first drinks and the spiel. Act two: entrees, main, and dessert. Act three: a dance of delivered cheques, split payments, and hopes for gratuity. The curtain goes down, and tables are turned in time for the next sitting. It is an illusion, a magic trick, and as a customer, you have chosen to suspend belief and control.

When I am in good hands, I am happy to hand myself over to the experience as it is not all lights and mirrors. Good hospitality is, at its heart, one of the great acts of intuitive care. Food writer and cook Patience Gray describes hospitality as the ability to “discern precisely what your guests are in need of”. In her book Honey From a Weed, Gray sets the scene on a Greek terrace to describe the hospitality she experienced while living on Naxos. The lady of the house who seats people under her fig trees, rushes to provide chairs for both bums and tired feet. She stops the dust from rising up by sprinkling water around and serves glikó with a glass of water with basil. For Gray, this is what it is to be in good hands who are happy to hold you.

I believe this is the main reason people fall for FOH staff. If you think there may be a vibe with you and a staff member, it is probably because they have done their job well. You are all playing a role: theirs is to make you feel seen and attended to, yours is to be a good guest. A good FOH will lift the burden of decision-making and control while still giving you the illusion of agency. You will feel inspired to order another glass, though had they not made you feel comfortable, you would certainly have stopped at one.

We live in a world that makes it easier and easier for us to disconnect. So, when we are surprised, comforted and relieved by the seemingly personalised attention of a good FOH person, an orchestrated connection can be easily misinterpreted. Despite what the movies tell you, good hospitality is not someone smiling, nodding and telling you that you are always right. A former colleague of mine was followed to three different venues by a regular. He’d sent her messages on Instagram asking her out. It made her feel uncomfortable and unsafe. In a report released by Not So Hospitable, a grassroots campaign aimed at addressing sexual assault in the hospitality industry, similar testimonials from professionals working in Adelaide describe the disturbing prevalence of patrons breaking the fourth wall.

I would like to stipulate that I am not against romance or cheeky fun. I love a flirt and there are times when love is, indeed, in the air. So what do you do? As the rules above state, if you are so overcome and think you may have found some mutual affection to go with your wine, you may leave your number. I warn against doing it verbally. It will break the illusion and it is really awkward. Even if they feel the same, timing is everything. The timing is rarely right when someone is five hours into a 14-hour shift and under immense pressure. Good hospitality staff will be juggling numerous tasks and demands without you even knowing. Moments of fleeting connection occur amongst a heady scramble of calls from the kitchen, empty water glasses and expectant guests. Save your ego and their stress levels and just leave a cute note.

If you are certain of your reciprocated connection, one final thing you must do before taking the plunge is ask yourself: is the potential of one night with them worth losing the restaurant, bar, or pub over? Remember Rule 2, because it absolutely will never be the same again. If you’re not convinced, watch season 8, episode 4 of Curb Your Enthusiasm. Not even Larry David could pull it off.

I haven’t spotted Dimmi at Jim’s Greek Tavern again. Too scared to bump into him, I waited a whole year before I went back. When I finally, did he wasn’t there. That, or I was too drunkand he was too busy for either of us to remember the other’s appearance.

I got away with a light, one-year sentence and have thankfully been able to keep one of Melbourne’s best BYO’s on rotation.

Caitlin is a writer based in Naarm (Melbourne). She has been commissioned to write the biography of Professor Jacques Miller, which will be published by Melbourne University Press in 2026. She also publishes pieces to her personal Substack that are snapshots of people and places that move moments into meaning, often with food and wine present.

No items found.

from the cellar

in good company

edges of reason

bottom of the bottle

Can I Have Your Number?

words

Caitlin McInnis

images

No items found.

Rules and reflections on shitting where you eat.

I once left my number for one of the waiters at Jim's Greek Tavern; it was my birthday, he was cute and the only waiter under 50. At 1am, he messaged, telling me to come meet him and his girlfriend. I was 22, and so shocked that my actions had consequences, I threw my phone across the room.

I was reminded of that instance the other day while enjoying a glass of wine and a particularly lovely little flirt with someone working behind the bar. After a lifetime working at local, family-run businesses where I know every customer’s coffee order and the state of their marriage, I never leave my number — even when the flirt is really good.

That’s just my stance. Many would disagree with me as the social rules are inconveniently unclear. In an attempt to create some clarity, I conducted some rigorous research (drunk conversations with colleagues) and collected a plethora of nuanced personal opinions with two clear rules everyone could agree on:
‍

Rule no. 1:

Never verbally ask someone out or directly give them your number, simply leave a note on the table.

Rule no. 2:

Don’t do it at your local, unless you are willing to lose it forever.
‍

There is so much at play in the dynamic between customer and front of house (FOH) staff. Hospitality is personal. When you enter a venue and take your place, you are sitting at someone’s table. The staff have invited you into their home, but not in a ‘we’ve just had three martinis and I’ve asked you back to my place’ kind of way. It’s more like you are a random plus-one at dinner in their house. Behave accordingly.

When done well, service is one of the most impressive performances you will ever see or be a part of. There is nothing quite like watching skilled staff weave their way around the stage of a restaurant holding grace, elegance and care in equal check with urgency and the threat of collapse. I will always revere the server who can fluff and fuck (to put it crudely) a customer into switching tables and have them coming out feeling like the Queen of Sheeba.

Venues are a theatre for care and conviviality that suspend, for a moment, the outside world or at least make it all seem far more palatable. The scene is set with low lighting and music. Doors open, patrons take their seats, and are welcomed to the show with a menu and the choice of still or sparkling. The curtain goes up. Act one: first drinks and the spiel. Act two: entrees, main, and dessert. Act three: a dance of delivered cheques, split payments, and hopes for gratuity. The curtain goes down, and tables are turned in time for the next sitting. It is an illusion, a magic trick, and as a customer, you have chosen to suspend belief and control.

When I am in good hands, I am happy to hand myself over to the experience as it is not all lights and mirrors. Good hospitality is, at its heart, one of the great acts of intuitive care. Food writer and cook Patience Gray describes hospitality as the ability to “discern precisely what your guests are in need of”. In her book Honey From a Weed, Gray sets the scene on a Greek terrace to describe the hospitality she experienced while living on Naxos. The lady of the house who seats people under her fig trees, rushes to provide chairs for both bums and tired feet. She stops the dust from rising up by sprinkling water around and serves glikó with a glass of water with basil. For Gray, this is what it is to be in good hands who are happy to hold you.

I believe this is the main reason people fall for FOH staff. If you think there may be a vibe with you and a staff member, it is probably because they have done their job well. You are all playing a role: theirs is to make you feel seen and attended to, yours is to be a good guest. A good FOH will lift the burden of decision-making and control while still giving you the illusion of agency. You will feel inspired to order another glass, though had they not made you feel comfortable, you would certainly have stopped at one.

We live in a world that makes it easier and easier for us to disconnect. So, when we are surprised, comforted and relieved by the seemingly personalised attention of a good FOH person, an orchestrated connection can be easily misinterpreted. Despite what the movies tell you, good hospitality is not someone smiling, nodding and telling you that you are always right. A former colleague of mine was followed to three different venues by a regular. He’d sent her messages on Instagram asking her out. It made her feel uncomfortable and unsafe. In a report released by Not So Hospitable, a grassroots campaign aimed at addressing sexual assault in the hospitality industry, similar testimonials from professionals working in Adelaide describe the disturbing prevalence of patrons breaking the fourth wall.

I would like to stipulate that I am not against romance or cheeky fun. I love a flirt and there are times when love is, indeed, in the air. So what do you do? As the rules above state, if you are so overcome and think you may have found some mutual affection to go with your wine, you may leave your number. I warn against doing it verbally. It will break the illusion and it is really awkward. Even if they feel the same, timing is everything. The timing is rarely right when someone is five hours into a 14-hour shift and under immense pressure. Good hospitality staff will be juggling numerous tasks and demands without you even knowing. Moments of fleeting connection occur amongst a heady scramble of calls from the kitchen, empty water glasses and expectant guests. Save your ego and their stress levels and just leave a cute note.

If you are certain of your reciprocated connection, one final thing you must do before taking the plunge is ask yourself: is the potential of one night with them worth losing the restaurant, bar, or pub over? Remember Rule 2, because it absolutely will never be the same again. If you’re not convinced, watch season 8, episode 4 of Curb Your Enthusiasm. Not even Larry David could pull it off.

I haven’t spotted Dimmi at Jim’s Greek Tavern again. Too scared to bump into him, I waited a whole year before I went back. When I finally, did he wasn’t there. That, or I was too drunkand he was too busy for either of us to remember the other’s appearance.

I got away with a light, one-year sentence and have thankfully been able to keep one of Melbourne’s best BYO’s on rotation.

Caitlin is a writer based in Naarm (Melbourne). She has been commissioned to write the biography of Professor Jacques Miller, which will be published by Melbourne University Press in 2026. She also publishes pieces to her personal Substack that are snapshots of people and places that move moments into meaning, often with food and wine present.

No items found.

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