Dueling waiters......

It was a "funny" old weekend. Whilst some people barely spoke a word some some people clearly have no idea when to shut the fuck up. I mean we all like a bit of chat and what have you, personally I can wax lyrical about all sorts of stuff and things but I like to think I know when to give it a rest. But some people seem to be missing the part of the brain that controls the flow of words from thoughts to speech. It's very unnerving and more than a little bit ear slicingly annoying.

it's Sunday for fuck sake......

In the shut the fuck up corner there was an old man, quel surprise. Now don't get me wrong I like old men, not in a cuddle up to them late at night sort of way, but rather in a I hope to be one some day kind of affection. Despite it being ten past twelve on a Sunday afternoon he was Mr Wide Awake and ready for action. Probably been up for hours. Whilst I was still lamenting the fact that I was actually up and yearned for the comfort of my still warm bed he was in full flow.

"So young man, how are you today? Beautiful day so far. You been watching the Olympics? Fantastic stuff isn't it? Did think they'd pull it off you know. But they did, they pulled it off. Proved me wrong, that's right proved me wrong. Lunch then is it? Lovely. Ah yes Sunday lunch. Fantastic." And he said it just like that, no stopping for answers, no stopping for air. He was like a Gatling machine gun.

Mother of all that is right in the world what the fuckity fuck fuck was this? Do old men take coke now? Is that what was going on? Had he spooned a couple of grams over his cornflakes instead of sugar? It was all too much too early for my liking. My plan to palm him of to the other waiter was a non-starter as her first table had that other Sunday morning nightmare, kids, on board. And given the choice I'll take a cracked up old man over murderous looking rug rats with neo-nazi haircuts and mischievous looks. Actually mischievous is the wrong word, it makes them sound like fun little imps when they were far more Machiavellian than that.

Grandpa Charlie wasn't on the coke. He was just an old man with a spring in his step and a lust for life. Oh how I resented his lust for life on a sunday afternoon when I felt grim and full of begrudgery. But I really didn't need his minute by minute commentary on everything that was going on.

"Hey up, lots of kids over there. Three boys is it? Three boys and a girl. Ah that's nice for them. And that couple there by the window, they must be young lovers don't you think? Married at all are they? Probably not. It's the way of the world though now isn't it? No odds to me, I say no odds to me just as long as they are happy. It's all each of us wants isn't it? Just to be happy. Yes I'll have the roast beef."

COFFEE COFFEE COFFEE COFFEE I NEED MORE COFFEE. Doubled at that.

And it wasn't just when I was actually at his table either. I watched him as he ate, he never said a word. But it was like something in him was triggered if one of us walked within two tables of where he was.

"Lovely. Lovely. Oh that's just great. Great food. Compliments to the chef. Yes tell him I said it's great. Keep up the good work. Did you see that car outside? Big car, very expensive looking. Lot's of money. Not worrying about paying the rent those folks. Oh you're with somebody else. Fair enough."

It went on like that ad nauseam. But I was three double espresso in by now and was feeling up for the challenge. I was gonna try and beat him at his own game. The others watched with baited breath.

"So did you enjoy that? Eh did you? Great beef that isn't it? Locally reared...."

Damn it, I was only getting warmed up when he got in with...

"Cant beat the locally reared stuff. Best farmers in the world here. Irish beef isn't it? Eh great stuff that. I used to...."

I hit back before he could finish...

"Aye great stuff that. The pork is good too. You should try that next week. All locally reared pigs too. You want a pudding then eh? Great puddings here. All fresh made this morning they come with..."

"Ach I love a good pudding...." Bastard he snipped in before I could list them one by one, he was clearly well schooled at his art.

This was like dueling banjos but without the threat of rape and with less genetic freakery going on. (Debatable - LMM) It was a battle for the last word. He had his old man lust for life I had (comparative) youth and espresso on my side.

"...my old mother, may she rest in God's peace (queue sad face), made a great apple tart. No apple tart here though eh. I say no apple tart. Ah but you have Pav-a-lova. (as old people like to call it) Lovely I'll have that with cream. No ice cream. No cream. Yes cream. And coffee. With milk. No cream. No milk. Yes milk with the coffee."

I was beaten. So many words.

"Pavlova it is then?"

"Yup pavlova and coffee. Oh and would you look at that another one of those big cars. Lot's of people with lots of money......"

He was off again. I didn't stay to listen. He paid the bill about a half hour later and as he left I was determined to get the last word.

Childish? Yes.

Did that stop me? No.

He came towards me at the door. "Well goodbye then for now. God willing I'll be back next week. Thanks for lunch. Lovely lunch. Great stuff. Pay the chef my compliments. Great lad he is, I say great lad he is. Bye bye for now."

But before he could get out the door I countered with, "You take it easy now young Sir. Enjoy the rest of the day."

And with that the door closed before he could respond. And I turned and walked away having secured the smallest of victories. Until....

"Young? Ha ha ha very good. Bye now." There he was with his head through the door laughing.

Legend......