The rain came down in little patters, filling potholes and creating an obstacle course of sorts in the darkened parking lot near the restaurant.

The people who parked in the restaurant’s actual parking lot didn’t have that problem; it was freshly paved, striped, well lit and clean. Good thing, too, because 20 minutes before we closed three low-slung Aston Martins pulled in. That’s about $750,000 worth of cars, to the uninitiated. And all three were exactly the same model, and exactly the same color: white.

“Great,” said the closing manager, checking his wristwatch after the party checked in at the front door.

“They made that reservation under a fake name,” he said. “I guess we aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

It was a sentiment later echoed by the valet in his damp valet vest and hoodie.

“Do you know who that is?” he asked the only other visible employee present.

“Yeah, I know,” I said.

Billionaires, they’re an odd bunch. In my time as a bartender, I have waited on at least five of them — at least that I know of, because the lists of the richest people in the world often omit royalty. Royalty usually doesn’t hold any wealth themselves; for example, the British royal family is funded mainly by the Sovereign Grant, a taxpayer-funded settlement. Look it up, it’s astonishing.

At any rate, this recognizable billionaire and his unrecognizable friends own a media company. His face is literally everywhere. Yet, here he was on a late rainy weeknight, and with only his friends.

As they went into the dining room, they passed the last people in there coming out. Those people did a double take, and there was a brief discussion about them going back to their table before cooler heads prevailed. Trust me, sitting next to a billionaire is not all it’s cracked up to be. They don’t want to talk to you, and if you insist on talking to them, you are probably going to be asked to leave.

This group with the fake name had managed to get the last seating in the restaurant and then showed up as late as they could for that reservation.

Restaurant reservations often include a 10 to 15 minute leeway for late arrivals, which might help explain why sometimes your table isn’t available right when you get there.

“We just wanted some privacy,” said one of the late arrivers.So, now it was just the manager, the server, a busboy, a bartender, three line cooks and a valet hanging around. Privacy is counted as non-employees, I guess. It’s funny how that works, it’s almost as if sometimes we’re furniture.

Restaurants used to be super worried about online review sites. But what if the person actually trumps all that on an exponential scale? Well then, guess what? Nobody is going to turn that person away — certainly not the weeknight manager.

That manager rubbed his eyes under his glasses with both hands. It was time to grin and bear it.

Wine was ordered, which seemed odd because this bigwig claims not to drink alcohol — maybe an occasional whiskey, he says, which is, in fact, drinking alcohol, but when your lawyers do the talking for you, who knows what’s true. Odd, but three of the five billionaires I have waited on are claimed teetotalers. I can only personally attest to that for two of them — just saying.

Nothing extravagant was ordered. But, when wealth avails you of every opportunity, eventually you probably just get tired of trying new things. New money is so often about flash. And these people — or that person — were relative new money, ergo the Aston Martins. However, they were also old money enough now to eschew giant wristwatches and enormous diamonds.

When everyone already knows who you are, and how wealthy you are, you don’t need to adorn yourself personally anymore. That is not to say they were shabby. But they were wearing hoodies and athletic shoes — nice hoodies and athletic shoes. Really nice. But not gold-plated or anything. Eventually, the waiter dropped the check and was torn between hanging around his only table, and being as unobtrusive as, well, furniture. So, he spent his time hanging around the only other employee pinned to a spot and a piece of furniture: the bartender.

Suddenly, Mr. Billionaire appeared behind him holding the check.

“Hey,” said the billionaire who was made rich specifically for his knowledge of tech and payments. “I was going to leave you an extra tip. But I couldn’t figure out how.”

Leaving me with these thoughts:

• Some very rich people say they want to be treated like everyone else, at least until they are treated like everyone else.

• It has been said that great wealth must involve the loss of empathy. And there are times that I agree.

• If one had to be a piece of furniture, my preference would certainly be a bar. Just saying.

• I specifically did not use his name in this story. I did it to save face — both his, and mine.

Jeff Burkhart is the author of “Twenty Years Behind Bars: The Spirited Adventures of a Real Bartender, Vol. I and II,” the host of the Barfly Podcast on iTunes (as seen in the NY Times) and an award-winning bartender at a local restaurant. Follow him at jeffburkhart.net and contact him at jeffbarflyIJ@outlook.com