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5/7/2006 3:54:55 PM |
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This last weekend I had the pleasure of taking my wife and 2 daughters out for lunch. We went to an establishment that regularly offers an “endless soup, salad and breadsticks” lunch special.
The waiter wasn’t very good. Throughout the course of the lunch he screwed up my order 3 times, but we’ll get to that later.
The most shocking thing about this lunch was when he took our order. He started with my wife. She ordered the soup, salad, and breadsticks special. He asked her what kind of soup. Then he asked her if she would like a Caesar salad or a “tossed salad”. She ordered the Caesar.
At this point I’m panicking, as I’m next. If you are for some reason unfamiliar with the term “tossed salad” you should be very ashamed. I would suggest you do some research.
Now not only am I panicking, but I’m also perturbed. You see, I usually order the GARDEN salad without any dressing. This moron doesn’t use the more widely accepted term “garden salad”, preferring the term “tossed salad”. Is he doing this on purpose? Should I order a tossed salad, risking the chance that I will burst into fits of uncontrolled mirth, or should I risk confusing him and use the term that society has established.
I quickly weigh my options.
I envision 3 different scenarios.
Scenario 1:
Waiter: Would you like a Caesar salad or a tossed salad?
Me: (sheepishly) I would like a garden salad please.
Waiter: What?
Me: Garden salad.
Waiter: I’m terribly sorry sir, I am unfamiliar with that term.
Me: No salad please.
Scenario 2:
Waiter: Would you like a Caesar salad or a tossed salad?
Me: (embarrassed) I’ll take a tossed salad.
Wife:*giggles*
Waiter: *giggles*
Me: No dressing please.
Waiter: (To wife) Your husband wants a tossed salad. Perhaps he is a closet-case homosexual. In that case, you will marry me, for I am all man and I can make seemingly heterosexual men quake and announce to the world their true sexual preferences.
Wife: (To me) I had no idea you led this secret life.
My daughters: Dad! You sicken us!
Me: I’m so ashamed!
Scenario 3:
Waiter: Would you like a Caesar salad or a tossed salad?
Me (loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear) I want you to give me, another grown man, a tossed salad, right here, on the table, in front of my family! I want everybody to see you giving me a tossed salad!
Waiter: (Looking confused) Ok sir. A tossed salad…
Me. (Throwing my menu at him) Look it up online, idiot!
Wife: (To me) You’re my hero!
My daughters: Our daddy rocks!
Patrons at surrounding tables stand to applaud me as the owner of the restaurant comes over to inform us that lunch is on the house.
What really happened was that I ordered the garden salad no dressing and the waiter brought me a Caesar salad instead. He also screwed up my soup and my drink.
He probably wanted me to lose my cool and start yelling at him about how he completely screwed up my order and that he is an incompetent waiter. He would then turn to my family and ask them if they really want to be living with someone so unstable, to which they could only reply “Of course not. He could fly off the deep end and butcher us all at any moment! Would you, good waiter, please be the man of our house?”
That would be the end of me. No thank you, sir! I was determined to keep my cool. He wasn’t going to beat me. I worked hard to get to where I was, just to lose it to some lousy rim-job offering man-servant. I could see that there was more going on here than meets the eye. Maybe my wife was somehow involved. Maybe her and the waiter had this planned for months and their delicate little scheme was unfolding before me, and I was (in their opinions) powerless to stop these events from unfolding.
I would show them.
I sat there brooding over my garden salad, which he had finally gotten right, drinking my Diet Coke, which replaced the regular Coke with lemon he brought by “mistake”, and eating my clam chowder, which, like the rest of my meal, took a few attempts for him to get right.
I glanced at my wife. She seemed amused. Of course she was. She thought I was cracking. I looked at my daughters. Those smug bastards! They were acting like nothing was happening. Of course they weren’t eating their food. They never eat their food. I don’t know why I buy them any. Maybe they hate me.
I knew what I must do. When the waiter came back to assault my dignity again I would grab him and put him in a full nelson. I would announce to my family that I was on to them and they weren’t going to get away with this. I had witnesses!
My chance was coming, as here came the waiter. He walked right past our table, the smarmy prick! I looked at my wife. She was smiling. She knew what I was attempting and had made some sort of secret signal to the waiter to bypass our table. Perhaps she knew their plan was in jeopardy.
I realized that I couldn’t keep this up. It was tearing me up inside. I was exhausted from the battle. They had beaten me, each and every one of them.
I had to put a stop to this right then and there. I would tell my wife that she had won and that I was willing to concede my position in my family and let this waiter take my place, as he was obviously much more of a man than I.
I turned to my wife.
Me: My darling wife. I…
Wife: I can’t believe that waiter. I thought you were gonna die when he asked if you wanted a tossed salad. I think he likes you. That’s why he can’t get your order right. He’s flirting with you.
Me: I…
Wife: He’s really not a very good waiter either.
Me: I…really? You think he likes me?
Wife: Oh yeah. Oh look here he comes.
Waiter: Can I get you another Coke with lemon sir?
Me: (sheepishly) I’m ok. My wife, whom I’m married to, would like another Diet Coke.
Waiter: Another Diet Coke then.
Me: I sure do dig the ladies!
Waiter: I’m sure you do, sir.
Maybe I’m gay. I don’t know any more. |
| http://www.redlobster.com |
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