Inappropriate Waiter is eh accidentally inappropriate…
Ah St. Valentine's night and the restaurant was stuffed to the gills with lovers - both young and old and it has to be said attractive and downright gargoylian. It was like some of them met in a very dark room and were too polite to say anything and have been trapped in quite serious relationships ever since. The punters were mostly passable, there were a few arm gnawers and the occasional finger sniffer but mostly passable, the sort of folk you'd be almost ok being stuck in a lift with if you knew the engineer was on his way.
Anyhoo, the night delivered in the way that it always does...ie pathetically. Cash rewards were as elusive as punters who actually wanted to be out.
But what ya gonna do, you win some, you lose some...you write terse and angry blog posts.
As the night rolled on and the sparkling wine and rich food took effect the punters became a bit more amorous. Hands that had previously been employed in the savage shovelling of food were now busy rubbing and caressing and fraternising with other hands and bits on the other side of the table. These weren't restaurant hands anymore, these were [shudder] night club hands or dare I say it, bedroom hands. A few hardy/horny souls took the head staggers altogether and moved themselves round beside their date. Can you imagine such a thing? I'm not saying it was the last days of Rome but there was a friskiness in the air - friskiness and [cover the children's ears] petting.
Have these people no mothers or internal shame based systems to keep them from such malarkey?
I was sure I would have to tackle them all with the squirty bottle and a few choice mother scowls but as it happened the ahem horn seemed to take over and they pretty much all buggered off out of it without me having to resort to my usual tactics.
And that's when things went a bit John Stape if you know what I mean. I accidentally did a shit with my clothes on.
"And I hope you folks have enjoyed St Valentine's night with us?" asked the charming waiter (me, obviously) as he processed the young man's credit card. The silent moment whilst the machine is processing payment is always filled with inane and excruciatingly dull chit-chat.
"And what are you folks planning for the rest of the night?" asked the clueless but yet still charming waiter
The young people stared at each other. They went red. The young lady shuffled uncomfortably.
"Excuse me?" pondered the young man of the old waiter.
"I'm just asking if you have plans for the rest of the evening...or is it just home and to bed...?"
"Well...well it's home to bed...but...that's none of your..."
At this point his one time but so much any more giggling girlfriend tugged on his arm. I'm sure I heard her say the word rotter but I couldn't swear to it.
For fuck sake. It was just banal small talk. It wasn't like I was hunched over with my hand under my apron tugging like a mentalist on the bus whilst slathering from the mouth. I have visions on them being unable to do it tonight without checking in the wardrobe and under the bed for me.
"Oh Giles check the scullery again.." And Giles will have to schlep down to the scullery in his pants whilst carrying a poker...and something in his hand to scare away the bogey-waiter. Heh.
I WAS JUST PASSING THE TIME, NOT ASKING IF THEY WERE GONNA HUMP LIKE DOGS.
I hate people.
I'm not working St Valentine's next year. If I want people making assumptions that I'm a pervert I'll go visit family and talk about art.