St Valentine eh? What a twat...
"I love you Manuel", I whispered gently to myself before I rolled over and shut my eyes to dream of giddily running hand in hand with myself through flowery meadows. I heart myself.
Saying that, I had fallen out with myself earlier that evening after three counts of unchecked idiocy, namely - spilling tea over the bed (which technically counts as two counts of unchecked idiocy as wasting good tea is a heinous act of willful disregard), one horrendous count of naked toe stubbing which ended up with me on the floor crying like a dying dog and one count of glass breaking, one of the new glasses at that. I was a one man Marx Brothers film minus the quality one liners. Unless of course, "Go fuck yourself you fucking fuck fuck of an eejit" counts as a quality one liner?
I didn't think so.
But I gave myself a sharp talking to and moved on. I bonded and learned to love myself again over a cup of tea and mini twister ice lolly. It was all quite touching really, but then again I'm really quite lovable so it's hard for me to stay angry with myself. Other people seem to have no such problems though. But as I lay in bed tenderly hugging and rocking myself to sleep I wondered about my two tables of feuding guests from Saturday night. Were they rocking each other to sleep or was she sharing her sister's spare room with an exercise bike and a box of books whilst he drinks himself in to a stupor in an empty two up two down semi detatched?
It had all started so well with gentle flirting, mainly from me, and loving lustful looks, not me, obviously. They chatted and laughed and looked like the epitome of sweetness. Love enveloped them and joy was unbound. Both tables ordered the fondue to share for their dessert, awh. Through my rose tinted eyes I noticed wee playful touches and the constant whispering of sweet nothings. Although on reflection that could have been nudges and whispering about me, "Is creepy fat waiter staring us?"
But all was going swimmingly well. As predicted the restaurant did look every inch the set of a Guns n Roses video bedecked as it was with candles and lusciously expensive flowers. The atmosphere was actually quite pleasant and the animosity and passive aggressive rage of previous St. Valentine's days was ominously missing. Not that I knew that it was ominous at the time. That said it did feel a little dull and if I'm being honest quite boring for us waiters and chums of waiters. The bookings had been so well planned that all the expected pressure and exhilaration had been removed. Manuel needs, nay, lives for his Saturday night rush and buzz. But it's not about me, apparently, and the guests all appeared to be having a swell time.
It was getting late in the evening and Waiter Chum Number Two and I were polishing our way through seemingly endless trays of cutlery when we were both rudely snapped out of our malaise, polishing cutlery is a hypnotic bore, by the sharp snappy tone of an angry man.
"Wha yi fucking mean? No no say what you were goin til say?", his face was red but you knew he was holding back a little, not much, but constrained all the same.
The lady's response was inaudible from where we were. Damn Tony Bennett and his big band. But her lips were pursed and she didn't look chuffed at all. She didn't look at her beau either. This went on for a few minutes, the sharp snapping from him followed by inaudible responses from her. To be honest she was letting her hands do most of the talking, not that she hit him.
It was all very frustrating for us waiters. We had to stop polishing the cutlery for god's sake to try and make out what she was saying. Waiter Chum Number One wasn't quite sure what was going on at first when she wandered behind the bar to find us deathly still and mute. We caught her up to speed and there we were were, all three of us, holding our breath trying to eary-wig on the most private of conversations/arguments.
Still, if you don't want us to listen don't argue loudly in front of us. And if you do well then speak up.
People don't set out to argue in public and there is no real way to conduct such things with any real decorum unless of course you are a character in a Merchant Ivory film. But just as things were heating up with more constrained expletives from him and defiant gesticulation from her the couple three tables over decided to get in on the act too. There were, thankfully, no other punters near them as I would have had to step in and I really really didn't want to have to wander into that particular bear pit. These were the sad unused tables that never got to fulfill their Valentines Day destiny.
This new episode of not so lovely verbals was definitely brought on by the large and rapid consumption of well priced Australian Shiraz. He made his views known regarding something she had or had not done quite forcefully and she defended her position with equal vigor and after a good ten minutes of heated debate they resolved their differences, so much so in fact that they ordered another bottle and he cozied up beside her on her side of the table. Crikey.
Meanwhile things had gone all quiet at the other table. I saw an opportunity to stick my nose in. As my waiter chums watched on with their mouths open...
"So folks did you enjoy everything tonight?", I asked with my tongue planted very firmly in my cheek. To my surprise the young lady who was staring intensely at something way off to the left replied, "Oh yes I had a lovely evening....great food and you were just so sweet."
I was.
"Aye....just great.....", started yer man with an attempt at sarcasm whilst staring way off to the right but I didn't believe either of them, "...get us the bill will ya?"
And of they popped. Clearly it will take more than a good talking to over a cup of tea and a mini twister to reunite this pair of love birds. St Valentine eh? What a twat.
It had all started so well with gentle flirting, mainly from me, and loving lustful looks, not me, obviously. They chatted and laughed and looked like the epitome of sweetness. Love enveloped them and joy was unbound. Both tables ordered the fondue to share for their dessert, awh. Through my rose tinted eyes I noticed wee playful touches and the constant whispering of sweet nothings. Although on reflection that could have been nudges and whispering about me, "Is creepy fat waiter staring us?"
But all was going swimmingly well. As predicted the restaurant did look every inch the set of a Guns n Roses video bedecked as it was with candles and lusciously expensive flowers. The atmosphere was actually quite pleasant and the animosity and passive aggressive rage of previous St. Valentine's days was ominously missing. Not that I knew that it was ominous at the time. That said it did feel a little dull and if I'm being honest quite boring for us waiters and chums of waiters. The bookings had been so well planned that all the expected pressure and exhilaration had been removed. Manuel needs, nay, lives for his Saturday night rush and buzz. But it's not about me, apparently, and the guests all appeared to be having a swell time.
It was getting late in the evening and Waiter Chum Number Two and I were polishing our way through seemingly endless trays of cutlery when we were both rudely snapped out of our malaise, polishing cutlery is a hypnotic bore, by the sharp snappy tone of an angry man.
"Wha yi fucking mean? No no say what you were goin til say?", his face was red but you knew he was holding back a little, not much, but constrained all the same.
The lady's response was inaudible from where we were. Damn Tony Bennett and his big band. But her lips were pursed and she didn't look chuffed at all. She didn't look at her beau either. This went on for a few minutes, the sharp snapping from him followed by inaudible responses from her. To be honest she was letting her hands do most of the talking, not that she hit him.
It was all very frustrating for us waiters. We had to stop polishing the cutlery for god's sake to try and make out what she was saying. Waiter Chum Number One wasn't quite sure what was going on at first when she wandered behind the bar to find us deathly still and mute. We caught her up to speed and there we were were, all three of us, holding our breath trying to eary-wig on the most private of conversations/arguments.
Still, if you don't want us to listen don't argue loudly in front of us. And if you do well then speak up.
People don't set out to argue in public and there is no real way to conduct such things with any real decorum unless of course you are a character in a Merchant Ivory film. But just as things were heating up with more constrained expletives from him and defiant gesticulation from her the couple three tables over decided to get in on the act too. There were, thankfully, no other punters near them as I would have had to step in and I really really didn't want to have to wander into that particular bear pit. These were the sad unused tables that never got to fulfill their Valentines Day destiny.
This new episode of not so lovely verbals was definitely brought on by the large and rapid consumption of well priced Australian Shiraz. He made his views known regarding something she had or had not done quite forcefully and she defended her position with equal vigor and after a good ten minutes of heated debate they resolved their differences, so much so in fact that they ordered another bottle and he cozied up beside her on her side of the table. Crikey.
Meanwhile things had gone all quiet at the other table. I saw an opportunity to stick my nose in. As my waiter chums watched on with their mouths open...
"So folks did you enjoy everything tonight?", I asked with my tongue planted very firmly in my cheek. To my surprise the young lady who was staring intensely at something way off to the left replied, "Oh yes I had a lovely evening....great food and you were just so sweet."
I was.
"Aye....just great.....", started yer man with an attempt at sarcasm whilst staring way off to the right but I didn't believe either of them, "...get us the bill will ya?"
And of they popped. Clearly it will take more than a good talking to over a cup of tea and a mini twister to reunite this pair of love birds. St Valentine eh? What a twat.
