Chef does the cooking, you do the eating, I do the drama...

I didn't have a fun weekend. I never really got my groove on at any point. It felt long and it felt more arduous than it should have. It was like being forced to watch Adam Sandler playing that one role he has, you know the likable dim witted hero who fucks up for 85 minutes but wins the girl/the trust of his father/the game for the team in the last five minutes. It was that shit of a weekend and I yearned for it to be over. Much like watching Chuck & Larry.

But we all love a little drama from time to time, whether it be in films, books, TV, even online. Oh yes a little drama is a good thing. But drama has it's place, particularly amateur dramatics. And a restaurant is no place for amateur dramatics. Such things should be left to the professionals, professionals like me.

boo fucking hoo

Amateur dramatist of the weekend, and there was stiff competition, was a 65 year old gentleman. I know he was 65 as he told me whilst sulking at the end of his meal. He ordered a particular meal but wanted it without the chili infused sauce. "Fair enough" says I advising him that to do so would alter the dish quite considerably.

He insisted.

I ordered it.

I headed off to busy myself with other waiter type activities such as small talk, drink fetching, ego stroking, plate clearing and cigarette smoking. I'm highly skilled in all the dark arts of waitering. The ego stroking itself takes years of practice but once you can live with how dirty it makes you feel it becomes both easy and lucrative. Saying things like "Oh and don't we look fine tonight" at the guy in cheap suit and slip on shoes or complimenting people for choosing the second cheapest bottle wine instead of the cheapest can bring tears to a newbies eyes. But you have to push past it, see only the wallet not the nasty man with breath like dog food, I tell them.

But by now the birthday boys food was ready. I collected the food and went to the table. I performed all my waiterly duties, as I am required to and as I like to do, in a happy and convivial manner. I wished them a happy meal, not a McD's, and off I popped again to look after my other lovelies.

After a while birthday boy and his charming wife were finished. I strode with confidence to their table to pick up the plates. I had enquired as to their happiness during the meal and whilst he wasn't gushing with praise, not that sort of chap though, he hadn't indicated any dissatisfaction. Hence my confident stride.

"So folks did we enjoy that this evening."

There was a prolonged pause as he exhaled some wind and pushed himself right back into his chair. He was adopting a fighting position. Crikey.

"It's my 65 birthday today...."

"Oh congratulations sir." I was hesitant, this could go either way and right now it was veering towards unhappiness.

"...and in 65 years I have never had such a worse meal. Not one other meal in my 65 years on this earth has been that bad." He started it in a low rumble but was announcing every word with considerable gusto and fortitude by the time he finished speaking.

Fuck, fuck this wasn't good. I considered for a moment, whilst he blathered on about living through post war rations and tins of dried fruit, about what to do. In our defense he had done it to himself, removing the chili infused sauce was a mistake, a mistake I warned against, a mistake he insisted upon. But it was his 65 birthday. But then again he was making dramatic claims.

"Sir, I did advise against having the sauce removed."

He ignored me and carried on his hymn for the evening of, "Worst meal in 65 years you know?"

"Yes sir, you said. I'll let chef know. Would you like to see the sweet menu sir?"

"I suppose we'd better. Maybe the sweets will salvage something from this disaster of an evening." He said as he sat forward whilst putting his hand over his eyes, his wife clutching at his arm.

Yeah as long as you don't want your ice cream with mustard, I thought. Sweet Jebus, give me a break. I was waiting for a round of "I survived a war you know?"

A while later he called me over to settle the bill. He was annoyed that we had made appropriate deductions to his bill. I was as confused as a dog with a bag on it's head.

"Sir you clearly weren't happy so we reduced your bill by way of apology." I explained. Personally I would have charged the old goat for everything, fuck it, he did it to himself. But again he insisted we charge him fully. I stood firm this time and told him we wouldn't be. This was weird, it's normally the other way round. I think he had another plan, letter of complaint. Letters of complaint pay off better than discounts received at the time. Again he was beside himself with anguish and there was more rubbing of the head and wifely arm clutching.

Worst customer in 20 years, or is that just too dramatic........?