|
Just when you think you've seen it all, there is always someone out there who proves you wrong. I would like to share a few of my favorites with you.
Wine Connoisseur
Two gentlemen in their 50's, escorted their ladyfriends, who looked to be about 22 or 23, from the wine bar to a table in the diningroom. One of the men ordered a bottle of wine -- the same wine they were drinking by the glass at the bar. The bottle is presented at the table, opened, and a small amount is poured into his glass. Our guy, who was complete with an ascot and a fake English accent, makes a face like he was drinking Cento red wine vinegar and spits the wine all over the white tablecloth. He demands that I take the wine back, it was inferior to the previous bottle.
I walked back to the wine cellar and I shoved the cork all the way back down into the bottle. I took a fresh glass off the shelf, polished it and headed back to their table. I went thru the whole presentation ritual, re- opened the bottle, and poured a taste of wine into his glass. The Wine Connoisseur took a swig and said, "A thousand times better, now you may pour for the rest of my guests. . ."
Who Cut The Cheese?
One night I was taking a order off a table of four folks in their 70's. One of the ladies was rather indecisive. Suddenly I smelled something, somebody at my table just let some pretty heavy gas pass, what is it they say about "silent but deadly"? I am holding my breath, my eyes are watering, and she is still going between the Fettucine Alfredo and the Coq au Vin. Finally after what felt like a lifetime she decides. As I turn from the table I noticed the manager escorting a homeless man who had defecated in his pants to the door. The man had come in for a Diet Coke. I felt bad thinking that foul stench could have come from my table.
Breadballs
A certain Philadelphia Elected Official takes a small piece of bread and rolls it into a ball with a diameter of approximately 7/8 of an inch. He throws it under the table and repeats the process about twenty five more times. It is said to be a nasty habit he picked up after he quit smoking. Not only do I get to sweep the 10 percent tip off the table (politicians are so cheap), but I also have the pleasure of crawling under the table, sweeping up after "Breadballs".
101 Ways To Use A Linen Napkin
One evening I was handed a very damp linen napkin by a well dressed middle aged woman. She asked if she could have another napkin because she just blew her nose in the one that I was holding in my hand.
Quirky Rich Guy
Tom is a regular patron. Tom is also a self made millionaire. Tom is fond of taking off his shoes during dinner and putting his feet up on an empty chair. Anyone lucky enough to sit at a nearby table knows that Tom has holes in his socks that you could drive a Volkswagon through. Tom eats off of his companions plates, even if they'd rather not share. Tom once grew a moustache on one side of his face because he was renewing his driver's license and wanted to show what he would look like in both circumstances. Tom never combs his hair because he likes his "Look at me, I'm a quirky rich guy" look.
Jelly Donut Sniffer
Percy, another of our upstanding patrons, is fifty something, with an enormous trust fund, and a bad powdered sugar habit -- if you catch my drift. He never comes in with the same woman twice, but the drill is always the same. He sits down and orders a Bass, heads for the bathroom, comes back, picks at his caesar salad, goes back to the bathroom, orders another Bass, bathroom, dinner arrives, bathroom, wrap up untouched dinner, bathroom, Bass, bathroom, hands the vial off to his date, joins her in the bathroom, back to table, another round of drinks, he staggers off to the bathroom and pisses on the floor because he is too high to make the toilet, often walking out without paying the check.
Hand Job Lucy
Lucy is a mid- forties professional woman. One evening she happened upon Rob, a fifty something lawyer, who was an acquaintance. Five rounds of martinis later, Lucy and Rob were very friendly. So friendly in fact, that Lucy had "Rob Junior" in hand and was slapping the little monkey like there was no tomorrow. Rob ejected his manhood down the side of the bar, and Lucy, not missing a beat, grabbed a cocktail napkin and blotted his reindexing drips. He tucked his missle back into his silo, zipped up, and walked outside to hail a cab. Not even a good night kiss.
I'm Good Friends With The Chef!
I was waiting on a real blowhard one Wednesday night. He was trying to impress his friends with such falsehoods as "I play golf with the owner," "I go to wine tastings all the time with the chef, we're real tight." He proceeded to blab on and on about vineyards he had been to, and how delicious a particular white Bordeau was, and how a certain pinot noir was a little young right now, but in six months it should be exquisite. I dreaded taking their order because I knew it would be like pulling teeth. I summoned my courage and approached the table. Blowhard pipes up and asks how the chef is and adds, "it's been weeks since I spoke to him on the phone." I politely told the gentleman that the chef was dead, died in a car wreck about three years ago. The table fell silent, I was stiffed, it was worth it.
The Malvern Measuring Cups
Four uptight married couples from Malvern came in for the pre- theater special, armed with coupons and Transmedia cards (restaurant discount cards for cheapskates). When their appetizers arrived, there was a distinct buzzing among them. I was summoned to the table by man with the biggest bowtie, who held his right hand up in the air and snapped his fingers several times. "Excuse me Miss, but we seem to have a problem here. If you look at these four soup bowls, you'll notice that one of them has a quarter of an inch more soup than the others. We would appreciate it if you could take the three back to the kitchen and fill them to the proper level."
Their meal ended with three calculators, endless figuring on small scraps of paper that the women kept pulling out of their evening bags, God forbid a couple chip in forty two dollars when they really only spent forty one dollars and twenty nine cents.
Feed Me. . .
One evening, Harvey, a friend of the owner came in with a good buddy. I approached them to take their order and he asked if "The pretty girl could take care of them?" ( As opposed to ugly old me.) Sara, whose mantra was," Feed me, fuck me, finance me", was a very attractive girl with large breasts and short skirts. That's where her talents ended, for she couldn't find her way out of a paper bag with a map. Harvey soon discovered this fact when he wanted another Dewars on the rocks, and more bread, a side of salad dressing, dessert, and that second cup of decaf. Sara couldn't help it, she was busy on the phone making a weekend date with one of the three men that she was juggling at the time. Harvey waved his arms franticly each time I passed him and I could only say, "I'm not your waitress." He left twenty five percent anyway.
|
