Aliases.....

I was dum de dumming and tat te tatting my way through the Match of the Day theme tune at work on Tuesday night. This was as much to amuse myself as to relieve the boredom. It was early and there wasn't a lot going on and to be honest I was feeling a bit lonely. The MOTD theme tune is a comfort. Gary Lineker is not. All the waiter chums and chums of waiter, and most of the chefs, were all away out on the staff party. Being a grade three shut-in I volunteered to work and let all the kids go instead. I'm very magnanimous like that. (and was in no way because I'm a grumpy old git who prefers the company of strangers to that of his work chums)

Damn my benevolent heart because I was now mired in a very bitter case of jealousy. I wanted to go and get drunk on tequila and be sick on myself and say inappropriate things just like the rest of them. A little tear of sadness escaped from my eye as I waved them all off. By wave them off I really mean give them the fingers.

bokey bokey wrongness....

But I got over soon enough, tea helped. So there I was a while later, my tears all dried up, humming the theme tune to Match of the Day again when in walked The Family Morris. I say walked but the Morris' don't really walk, they appear, they materialize even, as if from thin bloody air. I don't know how they do it but they definitely don't walk.

I had been doodling on the booking sheets, whilst humming (how's that for multi tasking?) at the time and nearly shat a brick when Morris Senior discreetly coughed to announce their presence. Honestly they are like shape shifters, one minute you think you are standing beside a rather humdrum and browning ficus plant and the next it's an odd family of three with seemingly magical powers.

It's all very disturbing. They aren't really called the Morris' but it's what I call them mainly due to Mr Morris' general appearance being that of a Morris Minor car. That is to say he is more rounded than fat. It's as if somebody has taken a big wood plane and smoothed off all the pointy bits. As well as Mr Morris there is his wife, Morris Dancer (she likes the ballet) and their daughter Morris Minor, obviously. They were allocated their names before I was aware of their shapeshifting/stealth skills.

We give most of our regular guests nicknames. This shouldn't be taken as a sign of approval or even endearment, it's just an easier and quicker way for us waiters to recognise who we are talking about when we are talking about them. And we are always talking about them, unless of course we are talking at to them.

For example Waiter Chum Number One and I were shooting the breeze before the restaurant opened on Saturday evening when she mentioned that Mr and Mrs Smith had been in the previous Thursday night.

"Who?"

"Mr and Mr Smith, you know them! Tall guy with blonde hair? Wife works in the bank? Stays for hours? You served them last week! Cagney and Lacey!"

"Oh Cagers and Lacey! Why didn't you say?! Have a little drink or twelve did he?"

She looks like everybody's favourite mumsie cop and he likes a drink, hence Cagney and Lacey.

Then there are the three geeks. They wear glasses and constantly fiddle with iPhones, Blackberries and laptops during lunch and almost always wear short sleeved shirts with more pens in the top pockets than in your average Office Depot. So obviously they are the Bill Gates'. See what we did there eh? Wonderfully enough they come in three handy sizes - Big Bill, Medium Bill and Wee Bill so this makes things a little easier when you are sending food to their table. "Big Bill is on soup and Medium Bill is having salad" etc.

Lovely Man says "lovely" no matter what you bring or say to him.

"And now sir, your steak"

"Lovely"

"And your water sir"

"Lovely"

"Your car is on fire sir"

"Lovely"

And on it goes.

And of course you know Todd the Toucher, Dances with Glue and Slovenly McGinbreath but there is also Smells like Feet. He smells like feet, obviously, despite his penchant for bathing in gallons of aftershave. It's not a pleasant combination I can tell you, feet and Hi-Karate or whatever the hell it is he slaps on. It gets you in the back of your throat and leaves you dry heaving and gagging for hours. Much like being exposed to the work of Adam Sandler.

Of course the trick is not to call them their nickname when talking to them. I mean I really don't think Mr Dick for a Nose nor Ms Globulous Maximus would take kindly to it. Still the letter of complaint would make fascinating reading.....