“Gloomy?”
Ah, today finds me tired. But another weekend was successfully negotiated – food ordered, food cooked, food served and all with the minimal of fuss and histrionics. The chefs were cooperative and less belligerent than normal. The managers were preoccupied with new shiny things in the office so they were out of my hair, well they would have been if I had any hair to be cluttered with management types. The guests were, for the most part, in mirthful spirits brought on in part by the merry combination of it being pay week and the a positive rugby result for Ireland. I couldn’t give a rusty fart about rugby but it was such an easy way to get on the punters good side it would have been remiss of me not to bring it up every three to five minutes. I was quick to discover that every obstacle and suspiciously small starter could be made go away with a simple, “What about that Tommy Bowe, EH?” Obviously I have no idea what a Tommy Bowe is.
Like I say most of the guests were in a jolly mood, even the English ones who took their ribbing from the waiting staff in good humour.
Obviously to have a restaurant completely stuffed to the gills with jolly, happy, convivial guests is an impossibility. It’s a dream we all have, but just as you cant lead a horse to water nor make Wayne Bridge shake hands with that most hideous of human beings John Terry, you cant please all the people with moderately priced well prepared fish all the time.
Step forward Pouty McSpatulamaface.
Pouty McSpatulaface had a face that looked weirdly reminiscent of a spatula. Seriously, a spatula. A big plastic spatula. Other than having a face like a kitchen utensil he seemed like just another regular punter/human man. It’s not like he had whisks for legs and knives for fingers in a Tim Burton stylie. No he was just regular. That was until we started bringing him food. Now he hadn’t said much at all from arrival, there was no chit or chat, no eagerness to join in the post rugby revelry of the rest of the diners. There wasn’t much of anything from him to be honest.
I went to clear his butternut squash soup. He had eaten little more than half of it. “Was your soup OK sir?”, I asked wearing the concerned disposition of a friend of the family enquiring if your mother’s operation had gone well.
“It’s….it’s…it’s okay….you can take it away”, replied Pouty McSpatulaface. And when he finished speaking his bottom lip pushed out a little. I raised an eyebrow and shuffled off.
A whiles later and with the restaurant filled with so much laughter and merriment you would have swore they were all stoned I returned to see how Pouty was getting on. I expected him to still be eating but there he sat with his arms folded staring at the family of four celebrating Junior’s 18th birthday.
“Sir, are you finished? Was everything okay with your salmon?”. The salmon had barely been touched, his pretty stack of fries were as unruffled as The Cousin and I when Aston Villa took the lead in yesterday’s League cup final. His salad bowl was empty but I figured that wasn’t anything to seek glory in.
“Yes…yes…please take it away….take it all away.” And as I cleared his food away I noticed his bottom lip push a little further out. Obviously by the time I took his uncracked creme brulee away his lip was so far out a family of house martins had built a nest under it and had started raising a family. I had to find out what his problem was. Because the problem was his not ours, it certainly wasn’t mine.
“Sir, I have to ask, was everything okay for you tonight. You have eaten so very little and you seem so…”
“Gloomy?”, responded Pouty McSpatulaface.
“Well, yes…gloomy. Is it something I did? Could I have done anything for you?”. This is a conversation I am well versed in, many girlfriends have left me over the years. I ask, not to make them stay but rather, to see how I could improve my chances for other relationships. What Little Miss Manuel and I have now is as a result of many post breakup checklists.
“No…no…it wasn’t you…”, started the pouty man, “….it’s me.” Christ for a moment I actually thought I was talking to an ex-girlfriend.
“I have an ulcer, I thought it had cleared up but clearly that’s not the case. My girlfriend who was supposed to be with me tonight got a btter offer from her friends and I have to work in the morning”
“Oh…eh…okay….can I get you…”
“The bill? Yeah, I’ll take the bill”
And off he went…eek, poor sod. I like to think I can solve as many problems as I create, heh, but what can you do for someone with an ulcer who is on his own and unable to eat and has a face like a spatula?
Still it was a great weekend, for me…and that’s what really counts.
13 Comments → ““Gloomy?””
Bet he was okay when he woke up this morning. And to keep ying and yang in balance Rooney woke up and still looked like Mr Potato Head.
Apotato head with another medal all the same….I’d rather that than be a Torres or an Cesc and have none
Dining out alone must be the saddest of all sad things. Poor man.
sounds like quite a tosser… [see what i did? 'spatula-face'? 'tosser'? oh, shit, i just crack myself up sometimes...]
*still laughing at daisy’s joke*
uh, where was i? oh yeah, bless his heart, no wonder his girlfriend took the better offer, sugar, rather than scrape the bottom of the bowl? xoxoxoox
Ellie: no, serving lone diners on a Saturday night is the saddest thing…
Daisy: hahahahaha….arf….
Savannah: oh dear….quality….
Heh, people always judge the lone diner. I find if you show up with a notebook, a clipboard, and a judgemental look on your face nobody seems to mind, and you get good service too…
It also helps if you have a face like an egg slicer, because it’s not like anyone’s ever paid any attention to one of those.
The only thing worse than dining alone on a Saturday night is working one, the young ones must love having an old guy who needs less sleep and no social life working with them. I had salmon the other night but it was served with rice WTF?
Yay! he’s back! my favourite cynical waiter is back!
This begs the question: How does a man with the face of a spatula get a girlfriend in the first place?
Manuel, I thought you’d find this interesting!!
“No.5 – Treating service staff poorly
Service staff often make less than the minimum legal requirement because it’s assumed that you’re going to be a reasonable human being and tip 15% to 20%. It’s completely OK to tip less than that figure to indicate that you were unhappy with your service, if it’s genuinely justified. It’s not OK to avoid leaving a tip because you’re cheap or were unprepared for the expense. For that matter, don’t send food back for the tiniest mistakes or abuse the staff like they’re your servants. Yes, they’re required to take this from you, but that’s unrelated to the fact that it makes you look like an intolerable ass.”
http://www.askmen.com/grooming/project/top-10-common-etiquette-mistakes_5.html
ah man, such a long day….I read all these…I really did….egg slicer, cynical, spatula love, lonely diners, rude punters….see I did…heh
You should have told him to grow a set already! Not to sound like I’m dead inside (which I am….sometimes) but the pouty bottom lip should be outlawed. It’s annoying when children do it, it’s aggravating when women do it and it’s downright shiver-inducing when a grown man does it. I feel for his ulcer but that jutting bottom lip is probably a huge indicator of why his girlfriend chose to hung out with her friends instead of Pouty McPouty Pout.