Yesterday’s passive-agressive Twitter shaming of the no-shows at the Los Angeles restaurant Red Medicine was so heralded that it made its way onto the Today Show. With that, the restaurant world got a taste of how shame, when properly executed, can be used for punishment. And even though they caught a lot of flack for it, Red Medicine was all:
I happen to think Red Medicine didn’t go far enough, and I’m kind of a pro at being shamed. Let’s hop into the Time Machine Of Tina’s Memory and go back to the best instances of societal, crowd-based shame, from the best shamers I can remember: my own family. Since I would never escape the shame-based punishment of publishing their personal photos, we are using GIFs.
1) Publicly yell about how the no-shows must wish your restaurant were closed. Then threaten to close right then and there, and say that it was all their fault.
2) Immediately offer a reservation to the no-show’s most hated relative, then repeatedly mention how awesome and polite they were in your no-show’s face.
3) Prove that you can not only run a restaurant, you could also run their life. Study their schedule, replace them at their job, steal their family and become head of their household. Easy peasey.
4) Creepily stalk them. Hire private detectives to follow them, find their most sensitive, darkest secrets to expose them on an electronic billboard next to the highway.
5) Seduce their significant other. Actually, go for their mother. Even if you’re a straight, female chef, screw the no-show’s mother. Nothing makes someone feel more ashamed than knowing a person who has boned their mom. You know what? Forget everything else, just go for the mom.
6) Talk about them on The Today Show. No one wants to ever be mentioned on the Today Show.
7) Kill them with kindness. This is a multi-step process. Politely invite the offending no-show back for dinner, and treat them graciously throughout the meal. Then: never bring the check. Yes, you are treating them to dinner. You looove this no-show. At the last possible second, and uncomfortably close, whisper “How you like them apples?”
Then grab your crotch and leave, triumphant, perhaps while moonwalking:
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