Manuel likes to dish it out but…
Don’t ever try to give me advice. I won’t react well.
He seemed like a nice enough chap at first.
Regular 50 year old man with regular 50 year old man hair, a touch more Nazi side parting than I would like to see but still, you know, regular. He wore a suit, a sober suit with no flashy bits or inappropriate pin stripes or garish buttons or buckles. His tie was a sensible dark navy and his shirt was an impressive crispy white. In every respect he was a normal. Which is nice, unusual but nice all the same. Normals are few and far between I find in this game we call waiting. It’s not a game now that I come to think about it.
He was dining alone, which is fine there’ll be no judging from me. I brought him his glass of beer as requested. All our interactions up to this point had been all rather short and to the point -monosyllabic even, well his. It’s hard to describe homemade roasted carrot and cumin soup in single syllables. But despite this he ordered, soup followed by chicken with salad, and I got on about my business whilst he read his Dan Brown.
Really that should have been a warning but I didn’t pick up on it.
It was a lazy enough shift and my actions were slower, more lethargic than normal. All was good so there was no need to be zipping round the place like I was in some sort of game show facing the perils of the gunge pit or Ant and Dec. Every so often I would peer round at what guests I had to see if they needed me or were finished or had died. The atmosphere was rather melancholic. Every time I checked on our quiet chum he was staring at me in a rather peculiar fashion. It was like he wanted to say something.
I ambled over.
“Ah, you’re finished your soup. Did you enjoy it”
“Yes, yes it was very nice. Good for the digestive system isn’t it…”
“Excuse me?”
“Carrots eh, very good for the digestive system and for the old eyesight. Never wore a pair of spectacles a day in my life”, says he making his eyes as wide as saucers.
I replied, “Indeed sir…very good”, and started backing away from the table.
“So how are you? I was here a few years ago, the last time I was in Belfast now that I come to think about it. Must have been four years ago. No it wasn’t four years ago because that’s when I got the new car, Mercedes lovely motor, and I remember telling them that I didn’ want to have to come to Belfast with the new car and all that, you understand. Yes five years ago it was, I remember it well. So how are you?”
“Que?”, what was he on about? I didn’t remember him. I barely remember what I had for breakfast two days ago let alone some old duffer from four or five years ago.
“Eh I’m very well. And you sir? You seem to be in fine fettle.”
“Well yes I am, fit as a fiddle” says he doing some sort of jig in his chair but adopting a graver tone he carried on with, “I look after myself you see. You have to you know. I see you have been living the good life eh?”
And with that he jabbed the handle of his fork into my gut. I was mortified. Not even LMM is allowed to do that. We don’t talk about my gut to be honest, it leads to tears and eventually gorging on pie and cakes and loneliness. So we just pretend like it’s not there. Like Adam Sandler really.
Anyhoo I jumped back, as you do when an old man is jabbing at you with a fork. But that didn’t stop him, well it stopped the fork jabbing but not the verbal jabbing.
“You weren’t slim when I was last here but by golly [who the fuck says "by golly"? eh? who?] you’ve been putting the food away since then.”
I found myself mortified and unable to speak. My face was going red and his empty soup bowl felt like it weighed a 100 tonnes. Was I gonna have a breakdown? In the middle of the floor? With people watching? That wouldn’t be good. Hard to come back from a mental breakdown in the middle of the restaurant, would people really trust you with their dessert order after witnessing that. I don’t think they would trust me with a packet of Crayola and a colouring book after that.
“SMOKING! I’VE QUIT SMOKING!”, ha, yes, result. I knew there was a reason, if not a reason then a very plausible excuse.
“Ah smoking eh. Terrible habit you know. Killed a lot of my friends you know over the last few years.”
No chance of you taking it up then eh.
He went on to list each of these recently departed chums and their ages and the family they left behind and weirdly enough their weight. Now that’s odd isn’t it? Hmm, knowing your friends weight at the point they died? [shudder] Anyhoo yer man gave me chapter and verse on how to lose weight, keep it off and how to occupy ones self when feeling the need for extra food. All this advice contained the words, “juicer” and “Dan Brown”. I have tried both of these and found the juicer to be one huge massive pain in the ass and Dan Brown as turgid as not cleaning the juicer for a week and then trying to make some juice.
Pah!
I don’t take advice well, ever, about anything. You could be the world’s foremost expert in your own field and I will simply shrug my shoulders and say, “pfft! Whatever brainiac.” But when people try to give me advice whilst working I tend to get a bit stabby. He was lucky he got out alive. Weight at death? 37 Stone due to having been stuffed with the contents of the freezer, unthawed contents at that. If I wanted to hear abuse like that I would stay at home and dish it out to The Cousin. Heh.
Fork jabbing, how rude!
47 Comments → “Manuel likes to dish it out but…”
Well Manuel serves you right. Have you ever thought you might be in the wrong industry if you have weight issues
I prefer skinny waiters myself.
oooh aren’t we a charmer! Skinny waiters, like skinny chefs shouldn’t be trusted….UTFW!
Aye – it’s like you wouldn’t get your hair cut by a bald barber, just so a skinny waiter; they have no possible comprehension of your needs
Weight loss talk at the table creeps me right out.
Did he ask what you weighed?
None of your business, asswipe.
did he fuck….I would have told him and then booted his scrawny ass out….he was on a fine line as it was…tipped well…so, you know….what ya gonna do…
THE BASTARD! (ok, he tipped well, but still…) xoxooxo
i know!!!
Wow. And I thought women were sensitive about their weight. Was it the topic that bothered you or the advice giving itself? And I wonder if the jackass would have said the same thing to one of your female coworkers. I personally would tell him to go fuck himself if he told me I gained weight in the last five years.
Im not sensitive about my weight…eh…
It’s just fucking rude!
I mean would you walk into a shop or office and tell somebody who worked there that were a bit porkier? No, you wouldn’t…
nowhere in the eat, tip, pay leave mantra does it say it’s okay to pass out weight loss tips….sake…
ahh, Manuel. He must have been consulting a slightly different dining guideline.
One specially written for the socially retarded, which includes some stabbing and insulting in between the eating and the leaving.
“socially retarded”
yes, yes he was socially retarded….well said
LOL He would have shit himself if he seen me, I get this all the fucking time “your a big fella aren’t ya” even once got from a well known Belfast chef *my god your fucking massive do you eat any veg” I know im massive im 32 St ifs kinds obvious.
But I don’t point out there flaws! took my best effort not to respond to said chef with fuck your ugly skeletal cunt how can you leave the house with out a balaclava.
Ah, Paul Rankin then. Right on all c(o)unts.
i agree….
Its was not Mr Rankin although Manuel you have been to his restaurant i believe you “shed a little tear” in your review!
Though it has to be said that the chef in question was very drunk when he made those comments any other time he has been absolutely lovely
ha, yes, yes I know the very one. He is a forth right sort of chap but as you say lovely with it…hahahaha
Now you know what it’s like to be bombarded with bald jokes by complete strangers.
Oh, wait…
strangers and other baldies…what gives slap head?
Re fat/skinny chefs & waiters – I remember seeing Albert Roux on something years ago saying “a fat person is an ‘appy person, thin people are never ‘appy!”
Albert Roux? legend…
I lost a ton of weight recently and word went around my home village that I had “the bad thing” – cancer! The fork pokes both ways.
I can’t get over some guy you patently didn’t know saying your after getting fat – utter rudeness. I mean, it wouldn’t matter if you had actually put on weight or not. Weight interventions aren’t in the remit of random tip monkeys.
correct….if i come home one day to find members of my family sitting grim faced with healthy eating guides in their hands then yes, i’ll listen….not when old and clearly bonkers old men stab me with a fork…
Jesus H Christ. That’s a tad inappropriate isn’t it? What a rude arsehole! I don’t care if he thought he was giving advice or he was the bloody Pope, you don’t just go around poking peoples bellies with fork handles. A little personal space barrier, no?
just a tad alright…personal space barrier? three door men and a hungry dog would be nice
Sanctimonious git, no wonder dan brown is his only companion
clearly! never a good sign…
Fork handles…..heh! Sorry, I’m easily pleased
ha!
you’ve just discribed my mother…you know dear, if you just cut down on the beer a bit ~poke~poke~… how about slap slap mother? eh? maybe put you in a home eh?
anyhoo where was i…oh yes, good post, i’d never trust a skinny waiter tbh, or cook its like a getting your hair done by someone with a bad cut n colour. don’t do it you’ll regret horribly later.
it was all very mother like…!
You showed dignified restraint in the face of utter twattery there, Manuel. Only a total dick would say and do such a thing. Maybe he was making sure you will remember him in another five years. Piss in his carrot and cumin next time.
it was the shock of it….he’ll be lucky to get a table again…even on a monday
“He was dining alone, which is fine there’ll be no judging from me.”
I would have pebble-dashed my monitor if I’d been eating or drinking when I read that. Right-o.
Wasn’t he just lonely? Lonely and friendly, an unusual combination, always produces weird results.
Or perhaps he’s just a lazy stalker. Yes, that’s it.
are you calling me judgmental? hehehe
Oh you oversized fellas don’t like the attention, do you?
Come on, grow some balls! After all, you’re twice or three times the man I am…
On a different theme, I’ve recently found myself eyeing waiters with suspicion. I think one fella nearly keeled over when I grabbed his hand and declared “Ha! You’re Manuel and I claim my tenner!”.
Turns out his name was Jiri (with accents) and he’d just started at the restaurant that day, having patiently learnt English to a standard better than this year’s university graduates and got himself the job to see himself through his course.
Luckily I’ve not been banned from the place or anything, it’s just that I’m on a warning.
Tell me though, are there special code words we can use if we’re ever in the area and think we’re being served by you? Although I’m more interested in the bounty.
Mmm. Bounty bars, eh? Full of coconut and chocolate goodness.
if you find me or some one you think is me then slip up alongside me and tell me I have a lovely sugarloaf….
ha, go on…I dare ya…mwahahahaha…you’ll be barred from every restaurant for life….
Remind me never to go to the loo at your place.
“Ugly Skeletal Cunt”
I’d pay money for the chance to say that to Rankin….
Bought a Tin of roses one year as a christmas bonus for all the restaurant staff
Tight Ugly Skeletal Cunt!!
tin of roses? what a lovely chap!
that said my boss got me a bottle of wine one year….it was called Fat Bastard….nice fella…
Lilwell,
Ate in his place the last time I was in Belfast, food was good but the service erratic. In light of what you say maybe that explains some of it
who was erratic? oh the staff….sorry…sorry thought you meant something else….carry on
‘Bought a Tin of roses one year as a christmas bonus for all the restaurant staff’
Laughing at that! He really fancies himself as a real dude, R(w)ankin.
dude? he’s barely a human…
“But when people try to give me advice whilst working I tend to get a bit stabby.” <– Love that! I've been having to walk past a fuckload of anti-civil partnership bill protestors on the way into work lately, and that shower of cunts could do with a stabby waiter being let loose on them. Can I borrow you, Manuel?
yes and I’ll ol stabby fork with me….
Eating carrots=No need for glasses? I was fed mashed carrots as a baby and I still have to wear them (the world is a very blurry place without them).As for the poking of the belly, ’twas assault, assault of the waiter. Not only an arrestable offence but could result in the customer ending up on the dreaded “Do Not Serve” list (helped by ‘ol stabby the fork). Recently a family member who I haven’t seen for a while commented on how I’m looking healthy and have “filled out”