The is the penultimate entry in the bar series and based on my observations from last summer and already this year. I’m not saying the entire patio crowd fits the narrative or the true stories below, but many do.
It’s that time of year when the snow is long gone, the temperatures climb, and suddenly the patio reopens, and with it comes a whole new species of bar and restaurant clientele. They’re louder and more entitled for the most part. Not all of them, just some. They’re sunnier (literally and figuratively). They wear sunglasses at dusk and order a glass of wine they had never heard of until they looked it up online five minutes before arriving, because they want to look and sound like a wine connoisseur. Welcome to patio season, where the energy shifts, the dogs come out and sit under their master’s table, and it gets a little wilder. If the regulars inside the bar are like family, the patio crowd is more like a music festival—seasonal, enthusiastic, unpredictable, and not always in a good way.
First, let’s talk about entrance behavior. The patio crowd doesn’t quietly sneak into their seats. They arrive. They arrive in golf carts, on motorcycles, bicycles, or by automobile and occupy a spot-and-a-half in the parking lot. If the patio is on the water, they may pull up with a “My boat is bigger than your boat, and I don’t like to line up like the great unwashed” attitude. They survey the patio as if it were a territory to be annexed. They want the table with the best view of the lake and their boat (“Yeah, mine’s the 48-footer with the blue trim”), the best sun exposure, or the most shade, depending on the day’s UV index and skin tone. “Can we sit at that table?” is often their mantra, even when the section isn’t open yet because the full staff won’t arrive until noon. Some insist but don’t think logically that if four more tables, or even two, are opened up, the experienced server will be overwhelmed, the service quality will go down, and then they will complain. Dammnit, where’s my drink? I ordered it 38 seconds ago. The service in this place sucks! Here’s a thought, mister and missus, “I want a table now. I don’t want to wait twenty minutes (while mentally stamping their feet like a whiny two-year-old)!” Make a reservation. One phone call is all it takes. The patio crowd usually shows up on a sunny day, a week before the patio is officially open, and things are getting set up for the busy season. They expect to be seated and served there, despite the signs everywhere, including the website, that say, “Patio Opens May 16.” May 16 means May 16, not May 9.
For the restaurant team, numerous logistics are involved in opening an entire patio or even sections. And no, the server will not tell your kids at the playground to return because lunch is coming to your table. That, dear entitled parent, is your job. It is also not your server’s job to find out if the ice cream store a block away will deliver, even with the lineup there that can clearly be seen from your sightline. Really? Deliver ice cream on a hot day or ask your server to go get it? Yes, never mind the six other tables she is looking after, but that never entered your mind, did it? You expect your server to walk up there, stand in line, and get four ice cream cones for you and your kids. Do you think? Are you that self-absorbed? You, center of the universe, call them yourself when your meal is complete, or go get your ice cream afterward. I’m sure you can do that. And if your kids cannot wait that long? Look in the mirror to find out whose problem that is.
And they come in packs: Couples, families of four with their kids slathered with sunscreen, groups of twelve that didn’t make a reservation and somehow think they will be immediately seated on a long weekend when there is a lineup, birthday brunchers, the weekend warriors fresh from the boat launch and far too old to be wearing their caps backward, and those wearing t-shirts and tank tops that say, “Cozumel Dive Club” on them. If the inside bar is a slow simmer, the patio is a full-on sizzle. Everything is louder out there and more demanding. Conversations. Laughter. Bluetooth speakers (even though they’re not allowed). The patio crowd believes in curated Instagrammable moments with cocktails, sunglasses, and that perfect golden-hour lighting on the water. Someone always brings a dog or two. Someone always brings a rambunctious toddler. Some even bring both, so the servers can dodge them as they make their rounds.
Ordering is a little different, too. The patio crowd likes their drinks cold, their food to be visually appealing, and their whole order to arrive four minutes later, even when the place is packed. Patience and common courtesy aren’t always their strong suit, especially when it’s hot, and they’ve already posted a picture of their drink on social media but haven’t tasted it yet. If the ice melts too fast or the breeze flips a napkin, it might turn into a negative Yelp review before dessert arrives because, you know, the servers have complete control over the temperature and wind speed.
The servers know working the patio is a different game. Balancing trays over concrete, dodging umbrellas and children, and persistent wasps bent on helping themselves to the strawberry daiquiris being delivered to table 12. It’s a workout. But it’s also where the best tips sometimes live because the patio crowd tends to spend freely and tip generously if you match their energy.
And let’s not forget weather denial. The patio crowd doesn’t leave just because it’s raining, especially if they’ve waited 45 minutes for that table. They’ll huddle under umbrellas, use cocktail napkins to cover their drinks, and insist “It’s just a sun shower” until their gin and tonic is swimming. The sun could vanish, the temperature could drop ten degrees, and it’s still “We’re good out here!” for some.
But for all their quirks and demands, they fill the air with laughter, clink glasses in celebration, and turn an ordinary Wednesday evening into a mini-vacation. When the patio is full, the whole place feels more vibrant. The staff move faster. The music gets more upbeat, and strangers bond over shared sunlight, and that one wasp who still won’t quit despite his compadres giving up and heading back to the nest. The patio crowd is a handful, and even the regulars may complain about all the tourists treading on their turf, but let’s face it, the spring and summer crowd is great for business and makes up for the slow winter season when the place is likely treading water.
John Berkovich Talks 