When desperation is all that’s left, gambling usually kicks in.
She looked at me with the sort of glare that makes crazy instantaneously jealous. Some people, it seems, are destined to perpetually tap dance on the dull edge of the razor blade of madness.
“Waiter!” She snapped her fingers as she summoned me, and the sound resonated like skeleton bones clacking together against my ears.
“Yes, Ma’am. Do you have any questions regarding the menu?”
“This margarita you recommended tastes like cat’s piss,” she announced. Having never been on the culinary end of feline urine, I took her at her word.
“My apologies. May I interest you in another of our hand-crafted cocktails instead?”
“Just bring me a glass of your best White Zinfandel,” she huffed. “At least the bartender won’t have a chance to screw that up.”
I fetched her wine and asked her if she was ready to order. “I’ve never had veal before,” she announced. “Is it good?”
“It’s one of the chef’s specialties,” I lied. “We have guests who come here specifically for that dish alone.” She rolled the culinary dice, though not before warning me that her glass of blush was running perilously close to the half-empty point of no return while not-so-subtly implying that my tip depended on my ability to not allow it to run dry.
Thirteen minutes and a half a bottle later her veal arrived. She tore into it with the veracity of a malnourished Ethiopian, gnawing it as if it were her last meal before her impending death row execution.
Several mouthfuls later, her carnivorous instincts suddenly came to a screeching halt and she summoned me yet again with the customary finger snap. “Waiter! I need to see you NOW!”
I sauntered toward her with the urgency of a patient arriving at the dentist’s office for a root canal. “Yes, Ma’am. Is everything to your liking?”
She shoved the half-eaten plate of food toward me with a look of disgust usually reserved for those who find an unflushed surprise in a public restroom. “This is disgusting! I don’t know if this is how veal is supposed to taste, but if I put another bite of this in my mouth I’m gonna throw up!”
“I certainly apologize, Ma’am,” I fabricated. “I’ll remove this right away. Is there something else you would prefer instead?”
She paused for a moment and her eyes rolled back in her head as if she were researching the treasure trove of her alcohol-degradated memory bank. “I’ve never had lobster before, but I hear it’s good. What do you think?”
“I assure you our lobster is to die for,” I told her while hoping she’d take the assurance literally. She unfortunately didn’t.
“Give me the two pound lobster, then,” she requested with all the courtesy of someone who’d just been wrongly ticketed for jaywalking. “And I’ll need lots of drawn butter. And don’t throw that veal away, either. Box it up and I’ll give it to my dog for dinner. And bring me another glass of White Zinfandel while you’re at it. And try to get it out here as fast as you can since you screwed my last order up!”
When the crustacean arrived, she devoured it with the rpm’s of a grand champion hot dog eating contestant. She washed her final belch down with a swallow of cheap wine and demanded to see the dessert menu.
“I’ve never had crème brulee before,” she informed me as a piece of partially-chewed lobster dislodged itself from her gums and landed on the menu. “Would you recommend I try it?”
While watching her mouth move and simultaneously not hearing a word she said, I looked over at the empty table next to her and noticed an unused knife cuddled up next to a fork. Suddenly, slitting my wrists seemed like a more viable option than continuing down the gambling road to ruin.
– Jeri Velgreen
My blog: customercrap
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{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }
I feel like I just read a Stephen King novel.
You really need a new line of work. Your posts, if true, shows such complete and utter disdain for people in general and your job, do everyone a favour and switch careers.
You appear to have a knack for dramatic writing, maybe try that.
I feel like I just read a whiney douchebag