People sometimes ask me if all my stories are true. The impertinence of it. Pfft!
"Manuel....", they ask with their curious little faces contorted with wonder and cynicism, "....are all your stories true?"
Honestly that's what they say, although sometimes they call me a lying/exaggerating bastard.
Who needs them?
And if you work in a restaurant then the chances of something unbelievable happening are doubled nay trebled even. Things like this......
It was Thursday night and all was well in my world. My world stretching from table 2 to table 27 that is. I control very little of what goes on outside of that. The new waiter was on so I was basically covering the lot. She did a great job despite her lack of experience, well nothing went on fire and her tips were great. Which is the best you can hope for with new people.
We were silly busy early on but by half eight things had settle down to an acceptable level of work requiring me to only mildly sweat. I had been gushing like a fatman in a cake shop before that.
I'd say not.
Our remaining reservations had arrived and all were busy eating or ordering except table four who were stuck between the lamb or the pork. I wouldn't mind but it had been going on for the best part of half an hour. I mean how do these people make it through a day? Getting dressed must by like doing a multiple choice physics exam for these guys. They finally ordered, they went for the fish. Didn't see that coming.
As I stood back to check were we were at with our tables in strode three men of god. They wanted a "quick bite". Yeah yeah padre, I've heard that line before. But I got them a table and a surprising first round of Guinness. I served them their pints and as they lifted them in unison and clinked their glasses together the music system changed songs from some dull Jack Johnson-esque type wet pish to, and remember I'm not making this up, AC/DC's "Highway To Hell".
Fucking awesome timing I thought.
I love our music system, even if it plays Jack Johnson from time to time.