Manuel es Muerto....well nearly

As the years go by and I become older and grouchier and more set in my ways I find I am becoming less tolerable of the mouther breathers, finger lickers and downright idiotic members of society. Sunday was Mother's Day, a day that fills me with fear every year. It's part of the holy trinity of restaurant events that induce panic in even the most fearless of waiters. The others being New Years Eve and St Valentine's Day. There are others that cause a milder panic but these are the three most buggery of all.

chaclats and flowers
your mother, your present.....!

But despite my fear, or maybe because of it, it was actually a pretty swell day. The atmosphere in the restaurant was quite lovely and free from the bingieness of previous years when it was more about the booze than the food. But there's always somebody that ruins it for everybody else and by everybody else I really mean me. Just one person on one table was all it took to change me from happy go lucky waiter at large to bitter twisted carrier of plates and fork stabbing psychopath.

"Here mate I need a word before my ma gets here", said the fat lad sweating with the profusion of a heavy weight boxer who has just done 12 rounds. I wouldn't mind but he had just walked round the restaurant.

I hunkered down beside him as he indicated with his chubby wet hands, "Yes sir what can I do for you?"

"Here's what it is like...youse must be giving the ma's some like free flowers or chaclats or som'hing like dat tilday seeing as it's muhers day. Is der anyway yis can gi me them now. I fargot til get her anyhing heh"

Oh my, what a fucking charmer! She is blessed to have such a loving wonderful son such as this douche.

"Free flowers sir? No, no we don't normally do that on Mother's Day sir", says I remaining on my knees despite the fact that I could feel my leg cramping up. Getting up was gonna be a challenge.

"Wha?", exclaimed the chubster, "...no flowers? Chaclats then?"

"No chocolates either, sorry bout that."

"See you fat bastard, you were told til get her a present last week!" Despite his best efforts to keep the content of our conversation from the other guests at the table his sister knew what he was at and was not best pleased.

"Why'd you even bring him?", asked the father with consternation and genuine anger.

Fat chops bolted upright which caused the sweat on his face to fly off and hit me.

It felt as hideous as it sounds. Sometimes I wish I had just stayed in school and finished the massive nerdy computer course I was on. Life would have duller for sure but the chances of being hit upside your face with the bodily fluids of fat sweaty people would have been slimmer.

I could not have been more disgusted if he had spat on me. But the urge to stab the sweaty selfish oaf was hard to resist. But resist I did and anyway his sister was talking him apart with a verbal volley of abuse that I haven't witnessed since I tried to jump over the horse in school. My gym teacher was a sadist and a master of sarcasm. So there was really nothing left to stab.

But despite his piss poor attempt to pass off the non-existent restaurant flowers and chocolates as being his own gift and despite him hitting me up my face with his pissy and no doubt hangover perspiration it got worse.

"Here ma...", says the heart attack in supermarket jeans and shirtless sweater, "...the tight gits don't even give youse any chaclats nor flowers fer muhers day. It's a disgrace so it is like."

I stood there, sort of erect as my leg was cramping away like goodo, with my mouth wide open at the balls of it all. I went sort of red too and then I remembered that this wasn't my Mother and I was under no requirement to furnish her with anything other than good food and good service and maybe a little bit of wit but that's all.

But quick as a flash she hit back with, "Well it's a good thing I have your present to open then."

"Ha!" exclaimed I as I walked away leaving sweaty balls to explain himself.....

Meh-thers day, done.

I'll be sleeping if anybody needs me......