The Day I was Proven Wrong…

So it was a Sunday afternoon and all was well. I say 'all was well' but you know what I mean, it was a Sunday and I was at work. It really wasn't that well. Wellness was in short supply. There was a deficit of well. It was as good as it could be all things considered.

I was just scooping and sweeping the splattered mashed potato, carrots and other assorted food items from under table 9 and table 10 and actually all the tables up to table 16. What a delightful way to spend a Sunday afternoon - throwing food. Wish I was a toddler. What I really wish is that instead of putting the delightful little throwy people into highchairs we could instead put them into little bubbles. Little biodegradable soundproof bubbles that could simply be popped in the bin along with all the uneaten food they toss around after the darlings have gone.

Or their parents could take some responsibility. More chance of getting my baby bubble to be honest.

Anyhoo I was sweeping and scooping and counting the minutes to clocking off time when I was met by a woman in search of a table. I was surprised to see her to be honest as I had closed the curtains on that section. I like to be alone as I scoop and sweep and ponder life. And let me tell you there is nothing like scooping up half gnawed carrot to make you ponder life.  I stared at the woman walking towards me with an incredulous look. She had broken the sanctity of the closed velvet curtains, which as everybody knows is worse than than breaking the sanctity of crossing a velvet rope.

I stared at the woman, all unkempt hair and what can only be described as some sort of leisure gear, and then past her. I fully expected one of my Waiter Chums to be trailing in her wake like a secretary chasing somebody who wont wait for a properly scheduled appointment but there was none. How she had skipped past them was beyond me. It wasn't busy and I had left instructions that I was not to be disturbed in my scooping and sweeping activities and not just because it is a solitary task. I just needed some alone time in the midst of the standard issue Sunday carnage.

"Hello", began the woman. This was a pleasant change from the usual greeting from new guests which is either a simple moronic stare or the shouting of a number at you. I despair when people arrive and bark a number at me. Quite often I respond with, "Four? Four what? Oh you would like a table for four..." Heh, good times.

"I was wondering if I could get a table for three?" My, she was pleasant.

"Yes, yes you certainly could", says I as I propped the carrot scooper against a table and I ushered her away from the vegetable patch cum dining section.

I escorted her to another part of the restaurant whilst at the same time looking for my missing Waiter Chums. They were nowhere to be seen.

"Can I sit at that table?", enquired the woman as she pointed at table six. I detest it when guests try to tell me where they want to sit. I know, I know it's petty etc but it really annoys me. So obviously I lied and told her it was reserved and instead offered her another table three spots over. Petty like a school bully, that's me.

"But it's just that I want a table beside the window"

"And as I'm sure you'll notice madam this table is indeed beside a window", says I. It's a wonder I don't get slapped on a daily basis.

"Yes but if I was sitting on that table I could keep and eye on our bicycles. It's just that I worry about them getting stolen"

Stolen? On a Sunday afternoon? In broad daylight? Like whatever Sheryl Crow. What a drama queen!

"Okay okay I'll reorganise the booking sheets. Go ahead. Take that table." Obviously I had no tables that required reorganising but it didn't stop me drawing random lines for effect on the booking sheets. No seriously, why don't I get smacked every day of the live long week?

After a bit her chap and their son arrived in. Again dressed in leisure wear. I snorted but as my missing Waiter Chums had reappeared from eating chips and ketchup my mood had mellowed and all was right with the world again. Waiter Chum the Younger was detailed with looking after the Livestrongs on table six and I went back to scooping and sweeping.

A while later and I was standing at the bar wondering how I could possibly manipulate time and thus leave work early when the woman from table six bolted past me and out the front door. Her chap followed quickly after her. Their son, seemingly less concerned, carried on slurping his soup. I looked out the window and what did I see but the woman and her chap running towards their bikes with flailing arms and what I imagined to be some rather choice words bellowing from their mouths. Two young kids, probably no more than eleven or twelve were desperately trying to bust the lock that bound the bikes together.

There then ensued a tug of war that ened in shouting and running away. Well you could have rogered me with a carrot I couldn't believe it. The woman had been totally correct to be worried about her bikes. I was mortified for even doubting her. I just assumed she wanted the best table in the house and was happy to lie to get it. People do it all the time. Such was my mortification that I ran outside to join them and try and calm the situation. Obviously I didn't go until the ferral children from the hood had buggered off. They have knives now you know! The blighters. In a vain attempt to make up for my earlier malarkey I took their bikes and stored them in our back alley and told them to go back to their table and enjoy their lunch worry free.

She enjoyed rubbing my nose in it after. As well she might. I'd have smacked my little snooty nose off if I had been her.

Oh my, Sunday's eh never a dull moment. So for future reference if you want the best window table in the house just tell the snooty waiter you want to keep an eye on your bikes. If he doesn't give you it you have my permission to smack him, hard.