Toothp(r)ick

"Waiter!"

I was being summonsed by a very large very sweaty very unattractive man. Being wrapped, as he was, in a couple of thousands pounds worth of Armani cut cloth really didn't distract from the hideousness of this behemoth. More walrus than man.

"Waiter..." If he had been able to turn his gargantuan frame to the left he would have seen that I was coming. But instead he just sat there with one chubby fat arm in the air and the other gripping the table.

It took all his effort and strength to lift his tree sized arm to attract my attention and as he dropped it there was an audible sigh of relief not just from himself but from the other unfortunate guests sitting near him. He was very sweaty, I cannot stress this enough.

He really didn't need to lift his arm to attract my attention, it was hard to keep your eyes off him. Car crash dining at it's best, two starters of mussels and garlic bread, main course of steak cooked rare with two types of potatoes, vegetables and onion rings. You could see the heart attack winding it's way through his body. I was even considering how the ambulance crew would get him out, would they have to use a crane, would they have to punch a hole in the wall? But that was for another day, another day soon no doubt.

"Waiter...waiter I need a toothpick uuuurrrrgghhh" It was all very Jabba The Hut meets pervy phone call guy. You need a stomach pump followed by a few well placed staples big fella.

"Certainly sir and shall I bring you the sweet list as well.... or maybe just one wafer thin mint?" Okay maybe not the last bit but I was sorely fucking tempted.

"Yes...yes bring the list but hurry with the tooth pick." He was currently jabbing at the side of cow wedged somewhere in the hot, dark, moist, recesses of his mouth with a fork. I decided to leave it.

"Straight away sir!'

I returned forthwith carrying the sweet menu and a little plate with a few toothpicks on it. I cracked my usual toothpick related joke,

"Take your pick sir, any one at all." Comedy genius.

"What..." he snapped "...oh yes very good." I handed him the sweet menu but he took no notice and immediately began pulling at the wrapper of a toothpick. His need was great. I tidied his table up and poured him some more wine, Australian Shiraz, not the dearest but certainly one of the better bottles. I was all set to leave when he lifted his tree/arm to stop me.

"I'll have....uurrrrghhh...." He was gouging and prodding away with the toothpick whilst trying to speak. The noise of his groaning and gouging was reminiscent of something much more masturbatory. This was not cool, not cool at all. There were very unseemly pools of red wine and food suspended together in saliva on the corners of his mouth. Good grief it was horrific. But nothing was going to stop him ordering sweet, certainly not the fact that he was trying to dislodge half a steak from the dark hole that was his mouth at the same time.

"I'll have....uuurrrggghh.....eh....." [dig, gouge, poke, spit] "....cake...."

"Cake sir?"

"Yeah....oooohhhh.....uuuurrrrgghhh......aaaaaahhhhhh....cake yeah.....cheese.....cheesecake.....uuuurrrgghh"

"Cheesecake it is then sir." I didn't have the stomach to ask him if he wanted coffee. The sweat from his upper lip was heading towards the food and wine spit on the side of his mouth, I didn't want to be there to witness the final coming together of liquid evil. I was set to beat a hasty retreat when he grabbed my arm,

" OOOOOOOOHHHHH UUUUURRRGGGGHH GOT IT!" I thought he had climaxed such was his relief! And with that he produced the toothpick from his mouth with a very impressive piece of locally reared sirloin on it. His hands were wet both with sweat and the contents of his mouth. I swear there was steam rising from them. He sat there with the heavey laden toothpick in his hand admiring what he had removed.

"Shall I wrap it for you sir?" I couldn't resist.

"No but you can take it away." And with that the sweaty, panting bastard stuffed the bloody thing into my hand. I immediately dropped it onto the ground.

"What's wrong with you man?!" He roared as we both stared at the ground at the offending toothpick.

"Sir, it's been..." I didn't want to say it's been somewhere that I don't want to come into contact with, ie his big, fat, filthy, sweaty, warm, moist, damp, pie hole! FUCK THAT!

"Sir, it's been in your mouth. That's what the little plate is for." But he didn't care and instead asked for a coffee and directions to the bathroom.

I left the table, he left the table, the offending toothpick remained under the table for some time after.

What the fuckity fuck is wrong with people? Looky here if it's been in your mouth it ain't going on my hand, comprende? That's what the little plate is for.