The restaurant was chocker on Saturday night, every seat was filled and every waiter was under pressure. It was hard to find time to observe the interaction between guests – the playful finger licking and sharing, the teary stories, the belly laughs and the barely contained animosity. Oh yes the waiter sees all. Like I say it was hard to capture the mood of the guests as we were all waiting at break neck speeds. It was hard, not impossible mind, especially when some people just make it so that you can do nothing but watch.

They were a sweet couple who were unlucky to find themselves seated in the hinterland between the table of eight Scottish lassies over for a weekend’s merriment and the 30 local government officials all trying to maintain an air of professionalism as bottle after bottle of wine was sunk with care free abandonment. But they seemed to only have eyes for each other. Despite their advancing years this seemed to be a new relationship. There was too much hand holding and quick pecks across the table to be anything else. And it didn’t have the odious reek of an affair either. No, I was pretty sure that this was blossoming love.

Awh.

Now all my visits to this table had been frantic, sweaty, hurried interludes in their hand rubbing and face stroking. They immediately recoiled as I arrived to drop off or pick up. Honestly I was too busy to care what they were stroking or kissing, just as long as it didn’t get in the way. The one exception to this came as I returned to the table with sweet menus. Previous to this I had been made to feel as wanted at the tables as herpes on your wedding night. But yer man had a plan…

“Excuse me waiter. Can I ask a favour?” Waiter? I have a name badge you know! And it has my actual name on it. Douche.

“Yes sir?”

“Will you take a photo of us?” As I reached for the camera I assumed he wanted it to prove to his long lost school chums that he was indeed a successful man who not only knew a woman but knew a woman who wanted to go to dinner with him.

“It’s the button at the top waiter”.

“This button? Here? On the top? You don’t say!”

“Yeah that’s the one.” Clearly he was unaware of or deaf to sarcasm. Double douche.

“Are we ready then?”

“No, no just one moment”, says yer man as he reaches under the table and lifts out a small fancy bag. You know the sort, made with paper and it was tied at the top with fancy pink ribbon. I looked on with interest as yer woman looked on with total horror. We both really wanted to know what was in the bag.

“Geoff? Geoff what have you done?”

“Open it Lucy”

I considered walking away as this could get very fucking ugly/tearful but where would the fun in that be? She looked at me. I smiled back, camera poised at the ready. Actually I was sort of worried that I might not get the magic moment as my hands were dripping with sweat and I was pretty damn sure that most cheap cameras don’t work well when their insides are more waiter sweat than electronics.

She opened the little bag like she was disarming a bomb, one tiny move at a time. But Geoff was growing impatient and decided to help her. That didn’t go down well and she snapped at him. Remember I was still standing there, watching, poised to capture the moment. Exactly what that moment would entail was any body’s guess.

And there it was, in all it’s shimmering glory. It wasn’t, as her and I feared, an engagement ring. Oh no, it was much much worse than that. It was instead a tiny small framed picture of Geoff.

“You can keep it in your bag or even put it on your desk at the office”

I took the photo a moment later – Geoff and Lucy stretched across the table holding the tiny photo frame of big Geoff. It was hard to describe the look in her face. It was part relief, part anger, part puzzlement and a whole big part regret. It made her face contorted to be honest and I doubt that this particular photo will be getting framed.

Surprise gifts, like Geoff’s ill conceived and badly executed self portrait, shouldn’t be dished out in restaurants. I know as I have experience in this department. I was maybe 17 and the object of my desire was a dreamy indie chick who went to the same maths class as me. She was part of our circle of mirth and merriment and was a popular girl. I liked her. Actually I liked most of the girls that made up the circle. And by most I mean all. On hearing her speak fondly of Sinead “I was right you were all bloody wrong I want an apology” O’Connor’s “Nothing Compares to U” I went out and bought her a copy of the 7 inch single.

This would work I was sure of it. A romantic gesture such as this couldn’t fail. So with both my head and magnificently sculpted hair held I high I strutted (it should be noted I rarely had opportunity to strut as a nerdy teenager so this was quite a moment)  with confidence into the college’s canteen where we had agreed to meet for coffee instead of going to class. Ah good times.

“Oh wow thanks, I love this song”, says she and puts it into her bag and started rambling on about calculus or long division or something. My confidence was shaken.

“It’s by Prince”

“What is?” What is? THE BLOODY SINGLE I JUST BOUGHT YOU! THE BLOODY SINGLE THAT IS MEANT TO MAKE REALISE I AM THE ONE!

“The single…the song…it’s written by Prince.”

“Oh…oh right…do you want this Kit Kat? I’m going out for a smoke”

“Yea, yeah I’ll have it.” And off she went with her new single and my dreams. Sake. As a very shitty foot note to this story she bounded over to me a week or two later and hugged me and thanked me, “sooooo much” for getting her the single. I thought my luck was in. But alas no, she played it whilst Kev the Punk was over in her house. They were now an item. Jesus h Christ on a bike that really wasn’t the plan. It wasn’t the last time I was bested by a Kevin in matters of the heart.

Lucy and Geoff left without ordering sweets. No surprise there really.

“Did you enjoy everything this evening?”, asks I out of amusement. My amusement that is.

“Oh…eh oh yes…the bean stew was delicious”

Heh, nothing compares to stew not even Geoff and his tiny picture.

bested by a Kev, car crash dining, unwanted gifts Manuel the Waiter, Well Done Fillet