There are few places livelier than Zingerman’s Roadhouse in Ann Arbor, Mich., at 7 p.m. on Friday night. The kitchen staff shows more hustle than a fourth-line center. The hostess is trying to juggle a handful of reservations while putting on her best smile. The tables are full of friends and families having a good time.
This is when the solo business traveler has to swallow his pride.
I usually have zero issues with dining alone. Give me a clean table, a good menu, and something to read, and I’m good to go. But even I feel like a loser – not a stretch by any means – when I’m flying solo at peak dining rush hour. All eyes go toward the one-top with either sympathy or scorn, usually the latter.
There are times, however, when dining alone works in your favor. When I arrived at Zingerman’s, people were waiting outside. A table for myself would be a 30-minute wait. Couples were being asked to cool it for 45 minutes.
The way in would be via the bar.
I hovered behind a couple with a to-go bag, doing everything possible – coughing, sweating, sighing – to encourage them to hit the road. The vulture act worked. The two left for a more sterile environment. I had turned a wait of 30 minutes into three, tops.
I’m sure there were some who snickered at my solo presence. It’s at such times that I tell myself that these people don’t know who I am and I’ll never see them again. It doesn’t matter what they think, as long as I’m eating well and choosing a better alternative to room service or takeout. At restaurants like Zingerman’s, the chow is worth a little discomfort.