Thursday, 3 April 2008

The Pointy Sisters

Hugh Grant

It wasn't just Dirty Boy and the Yo Daddy who had me reaching for the stabbing fork on Monday night. Oh hell no, those two were wee buns to serve in comparison to two other tables I had to endure serve. One table was so wet I thought I was gonna have to shake an order out of them. A table of three Hugh Grant's. Every question I asked was answered with the same question repeated back.

"So would anyone like a drink?"

"Ah a drink eh...I suppose we should have a drink eh fellas. Shall we have a drink then?"

Ugh!

"How would you like your steak cooked sir?'

"Steak cooked eh. Um er eh um eh er um well yes I suppose well how do I want my steak cooked?"

I thought the coffee order was was gonna take forever. Actually forever. I should have just said we have filter and left it at that. It was probably wrong to mention liqueur coffees too.

I love the smell of Napalm in the morning

Now I'm not one for hyperbole (HA!-LMM) but I feared for my life with another table. Well it was Carmela Soprano or rather 9 Carmela Soprano's. NINE!

My first table on Monday night was a nine top who booked the day before. The name given for the booking sounded like an Italian clothes shop or even a restaurant. But it turned out it was their actual family name. First to arrive were two tall well dressed women in very high heels and Gucci type outfits. Well I assumed they were Gucci or Chanel I wouldn't really know but they certainly weren't Primark. The two of them were pointy, very pointy, angular even. Their long and well manicured fingers were particularly pointy in the direction of the bar. I brought them their dry wine quick sharpish.

They were soon joined by another three equally well dressed, manicured and pointy women. They were obviously sisters. Mother of all that is right they kicked off even before they sat down. Someone hadn't picked up mother. Mother wouldn't be pleased. Pointy sister the elder blamed pointy sister the younger who blamed another sister (probably pointy too) who was yet to arrive. More dry wine was brought. I nervously suggested they get a bottle to which they all replied, "NO!"

Okie dokie.

The three remaining sisters and an angry looking old woman dripping in gold and suffering from seventy years of family squabbling finally arrived 20 minutes after the rest. She turned to me before she got to the table and with total class said, "Vodka, tonic, ice, one slice of lemon and just one slice mind." She winked at me as if I was her only friend in the world, well me and Mr Smirnoff.

There was a moments silence as the old woman sat down. Then it started. I mean really started. Pointy sister the elder kicked things off, "Mum, I'm sorry there was no one there to pick you up." She fixed her pale blue jacket with thick white trim and gold buttons whilst she spoke thus avoiding eye contact with the intended recipient of this remark. But before she even finished one of the others had countered and within thirty seconds they were all at. Fingers wagging. Tongues lashing. Gold jangling. Pointy noses pointing. It was a treat for all the senses. I love the smell of Chanel No.5 in the evening. I served the drinks and retreated to safe distance. But still within sight of the table.

On it went, that is until mother had heard enough and put an end to it all. Her hard rasping voice was like a nuclear strike. Boom! One mushroom cloud later and there was silence. That silence was filled by me. It's all about timing. Four of them were now on their mobile phones talking to various husbands, partners, children as I tried to speak. Aggression, both passive and otherwise, filled the air. I just wanted their food order. But since no one was speaking to anyone, including me, it was proving rather difficult.

Pointy sister the middle broke the deadlock and ordered mussels and bread. Then it was like a competition with them all ordering at once. I knew better than to try and stop them and just wrote the order as quick as I could. The hell if I was gonna try any shit with this lot. If they wanted cod and pepper chips I wasn't gonna stop them. I'd pour the sauce for them if they wanted.

The food was served, more wine and several more V and T's too. They started talking again too. And just like before all at once and loudly at that. But this was friendlier and much more jovial than before. It was a joy to watch......from behind the bar. I guessed that it could just as easily revert back to war in a heartbeat. They were just one of those families, loud emotive and probably full of love. You just wouldn't want to cross them. They ordered yet another round of drinks and got the bill at the same time. They paid, tipped and left. They were only in for just over an hour but it was a whirlwind of an hour. I surmised that there were some fat men at home having a quiet night on their own, but I'm not one for stereotypes.......honest

**************
The answers to your many many questions will be posted tomorrow.
If anyone has any more email them to me at:
whycantieatsoupwithafork@welldonefillet.com

15 People trying to get Manuel's attention:

bendersbetterbrother said...

Head down, good choice.

Scabby arse cleared up yet?

ellie said...

Are stripey jumpers preferable to Chanel and Gucci?
You're not having much luck of late, I hope the tips are good.

Manuel said...

BBB: thank you far caring....yes, yes it has....

ellie: tips have actually been great of late.....gucci, chanel, primark all the same to me.......

Medbh said...

But you made everything flow much more smoothly, Manuel. You knew what to do to diffuse the situation. A green waiter would have launched the war, you had them at peace.
Good man.

Anonymous Boxer said...

I think this is one of my favorite posts. Ever.

Blondefabulous said...

I learned young never to get to close to my Italian relatives when they were getting into a heated conversation. All the hand gestures they used would probably have had me bitch slapped in under a minute. Still, it was nice to hear the lyrical arguments sometimes.

daisyfae said...

Pointy women scare me. Maria Shriver (Mrs. Governor Schwartzenegger) is the Queen of the Pointy Women.

I think they have special salons where they go to get their faces sharpened...

lovely post. reminded me a bit of dinners when i was growing up... italian redneck families are like that (without the designer clothes)

MJ said...

Did you have a traumatic childhood incident with a pointy manicured finger?

This isn't the first time the topic has come up.

Manuel said...

medbh: Yeah I know.......wish I'd started a war though......more fun...

boxer: awh really? Thanks...

blondie: Seriously I thought I was gonna get a face full of Chablis more than once......

daisyfae: nails, nose, and cheek bones......

mj: you know what.....that's true.....eek....frasier time...

Conan Drumm said...

What accent(s) did they speak with?

toast said...

i'm with the boxer - this is a great post

savannah said...

what a joy, sugar! ;-) this post reminds me about all i miss not having the club/resto anymore..the awesome after work stories! xoxo

(did the matriarch ask for a kiss after? that used to happen to the MITM all the time, the old biddies loved him!)

Gypsy said...

I am lamenting how long I have been away from your hilarious blog Manuel. Great post! Very funny indeed.

Is it just me? said...

Your description of the pointy women is superb.It had me cowering under my desk and I'm a woman..who loves Chanel and has been known to display cow-like personality traits.
Brill!

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