Thursday, May 17, 2012

Reason Number Two To Hate Me, Your Server:

i want your date. sorry, sorry, sorry. this only happened one time and i still feel like a wanker about it. in my defense, well this whole post is in my defense, so, here goes.

i was 23 and working in a steakhouse. i liked the job, except the middle-aged business men who tried to guess the size of my chest. they were always wrong, as if low balling it would be flattering.


a couple got sat at one of my tables. they were mid to late twenties.  she looked stuck up and overdressed and he looked, well, hot. casually dressed, visible tattoos, glasses he kept pushing up his nose, messy hair; the whole nine for my modest and youthful taste.

so he orders a big beer, declaring 'why not, it's my birthday!' while his date sneered at our wine list, quizzing me on wine i had never tried and knew nothing about. i am sure that she knew this and wanted to make me look foolish. some women, i can just tell, hate other women on site. birthday boy smoothed things over for me, declaring that he should just get three different kinds and mix them together. she gave him a withering look for his troubles.

after clearing that hurdle, he quickly glanced at the menu and then placed it down, already totally sure of what he wanted, while she. took. for. ever.  after about fifteen minutes of her frowning over the same three pages, i went over to the table and asked if i could make any suggestions or answer any questions.

"well, i am a vegan. i do NOT eat this kind of stuff and am having a hard time finding ANYTHING that will be palatable. what would you recommend in my unique situation? having to come to a STEAKHOUSE when i am a VEGAN?"

"how nice that you were willing to accommodate your boyfriend on your birthday. all of our salads and pastas can be made vegan. see the little 'v' next to some of the dishes? that means that those can be prepared to your specifications, just let me know which one you would like to try."

ten minutes later, she of course attempts to order something that we can not prepare vegan and i have to piss her off yet again. she finally points vaguely to one of the aforementioned  entrees and he orders a huge slab of prime rib, medium rare, a baked potato loaded with sour cream, butter, and bacon, and a salad laden with creamy ranch dressing and cheese, making a joke about letting me have whatever was left over after i expressed so much pleasure over the prime rib. at this point i would have killed the cow with my bare hands for him, or just the cow of a woman he was with so i could be the one sitting across from him on his birthday.

after they ordered, i overheard her ridiculing his meal choice, wondering out loud how she was ever going to be able to watch him eat so much animal product. and an idea for a harmless joke formed in my head.

about twenty minutes later, their food came out. in this time he had drank his entire beer and eaten much of the mini loaf of (delicious) honey oat bread with cinnamon butter. she had touched not her glass of wine, nor the bread. of course.

i set down their entrees, and as he took the final gulp of his beer, i stood a menu between them, explaining that this way, she would not have to watch him eat a dead animal and he would not be blinded by all of her healthy food.

he laughed so hard he spit out his beer.

in the direction of his date.

he continued to laugh as his date glared at me and ran to the bathroom. i get it, no one likes to be spit at, but we are talking about three or four drops here.

while she was gone, i apologized for what i had done. he thanked me for making his birthday fun. i told him that i did not understand celebrating something unless it is fun, that dates should be a good time, never stressful.

and then we shared a look. ffffffffuuuuuuuucccccckkk.

the rest of the meal was kind of a blur. i got a little busy and was not able to give them a lot more extra attention. he got another beer, she pushed her food around. they did not talk much.  when it came time to box up his food (she did not want hers. surprise.) i wrote my number down and slipped it in the box before bagging it up.

not until i had already run the card and said goodbye did i see the matching wedding bands.

he never called, and i never did such a thing again.

even though the story did not end up a fairytale, i am grateful to that guy for two reasons:

one, he paid the tab. for his own birthday dinner and tipped very well.

and two, he never told his wife that i gave him my number. i am sure of this only because i did not have some crazy vegan bitch coming back to rip my hair out.

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