Comeuppance – not on the menu but served every night…

Is there anything more enjoyable than watching certain people getting their comeuppance?

Having clicked her fingers, cast more dirty looks than a 16-year-old girl being told off by her mum for wearing too much makeup and generally been as rude to the staff as an 18th century land owner with a penchant for striking those he deemed worthy of a good crack on the cheek with a poker it was a joy to be able to take down this particular punter.

"Eh...can I get more wine please?", snarled the woman whilst pulling off that most particularly skilful of shit tricks -  managing to look down on me from a seated position whilst I lurched over her table. It wasn't her request for wine that so annoyed me but rather the way she said it. I mean I am literally paid to do exactly that - bring the wine that the people ask for. But still there was no need for the Friends-like upward inflection. Like how was I supposed to know she wanted more wine what with having brought a bottle to the table two minutes previously. **To be read with upward inflections all over the place**

"Yes madam, certainly what can I get you?" Maybe a small table sized guillotine? A brownie delicately dusted with anthrax? My balls in a jar?

"Eh I want a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon?", again with the by now laughable upward inflection.

"I'm sorry we don't have a Cabernet Sauvignon by the glass available this evening" and with that I went through her red wine by the glass options. To which she replied with, bear in mind as the punter she has all the power and despite what I might say on here I have to suck up the snide comments, upward inflections and dirty looks...

"Eh red wine? Hello, I said I wanted white wine? Cabernet Sauvignon?"

"Yeah, Cabernet Sauvignon? That's a red wine"

BOOM!

And the power was all mine again.

I rode my high horse, which I have named Cab-Sauv the Powerful, all the way back to the bar were I picked up a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and trotted back to her table again.

Listen, she started it by being a condescending asshole and as we know there is only room for one of those in the restaurant - me.

There was also a chap on Saturday who got taken down...but not by me. It's so much better when punters deal with their own problems themselves.

It was late on but the restaurant was still in full swing. People were laughing, people not including waiters I should add, and having a jolly swell time. Chefs were chefing and waiters were waiting although I'm pretty sure some were smoking.

Not me though, I was at the door explaining to a punter and his wife that we were full and that there was no possible way we could get them a table. I thought I was being affable and polite and explained the situation as best I could. But apparently not.

"Whadyamean? Full?"

It's a difficult question to answer without coming across as impertinent but bugger me with an empty table the word full doesn't leave a lot of room for wiggle. Full is full is it not?

He stood there, thought about the situation for a moment whilst I stared back, head at a sympathetic angle (as you do) with my biggest I'm sorry expression plastered all over my face like I was in a face pulling competition.

"So what? What are we mean til do now?"

I suggested a few other locations, again the actions of a top bloke if you ask me.

"So yer just gonna throw us out til the street? In the rain like?"

Christ, I've never felt more like a slum landlord in my whole chuff.

"Sir, like I said we are full, we have no tables now and we won't have any tables coming available soon"

"AYE AYE AYE YE SAID ALL THAT ALREADY SO YE DID"

Goodbye sympathetic head angle, goodbye empathetic facial expression and hello, Fuck off you hairy palmed, mouth breathing, crotch sniffing, armpit licking, foot fetishist (probably, he looked the sort) face.

"Right c'mon Joe, ders no tables", said the until now passive Mrs Joe.

"Aye...out til the street...in de rain"

As a parting shot he gave me a look that seemed to suggest he was memorizing my face for the future and making plans to move the key elements of my face from their current locations. Charming. I walked slowly and at a distance behind them as they made for the door.

"WHY THE FUCK YOU GAT TIL GET ON LIKE DAT?"

"What? I was just trying til get us a table"

"Aye by having a go at de wee lad? Yer a fucking muppet you know dat....I'm nat staying in yours tonight..." Wee lad? I'm nearly 40 FFS.

Ha, no dinner and no afters. Slap it up ye Joe, slap it up ye on yer own.

Waiters, we always win.

There'll be no post on Monday as I'm going to Waiter Chum Number One's wedding. Woo hoo for WCnO.

Have a good weekend.