Now that’s service…creepy service.
Saturday night was madness. I may have mentioned this already. I had stopped in the middle of the madness to collect my thoughts, mentally check where each table was at (I don't mean where each table physically was but rather what they were up to. That said one table did decide to rearrange their setup. This didn't go down well and they were both frowned at and chastised. You can convey a lot with one raised eyebrow) I wasn't that far gone and I needed to stand still for just one brief moment. For some reason I did this outside the toilets.
Obviously, I mean where else would one stop to catch their breath?!
As I stood there, wondering if I was half way to a heart attack or if it was just the bowl of pepper chips I had thrown into me earlier with the carefree abandonment of a man of a much younger and much more able constitution coming back to haunt me, the nice lady from table 20 walked towards me. I thought she wanted something from me so I straightened myself up from my relaxing slump and fixed my, "how can I help you" face on. I must have looked like a grinning asshole/pervert because she replied with a quite puzzled looked just before sidestepping me and heading on into the bathrooms.
Anyhoo I collated my thoughts for another couple of minutes and moved on only to run into the same woman again a few minutes later. I'm convinced she thought I was stalking her and what followed next probably only convinced her that I was more sex pest than waiter.
As she walked towards me again, clutching her handbag as ladies tend to do when returning or indeed going to the bathroom, I smiled and asked her if she need anything.
"No I'm fine, I was just at the bathroom"
Which is an answer that requires no further reply or query.
Except I did. I pushed further. I queried that which requires no querying.
"And was everything ok?", I asked of the polite middle aged lady who stared back at me in horror.
Her table abandoned their sweet menus and left five minutes later.
Nobody but nobody, well maybe the parents of small children, asks somebody, especially strangers, how they got on in the toilet. Jesus H Christ, what was I thinking?! I went red, told nobody and spent five minutes in a darkened store room wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Was I so eager to please people and make sure that they were all having a swell and lovely time that I was prepared to check the quality of their, ahem, pooing whilst dining with us?
It seems I am.
I wouldn't mind but this is not the first time this has happened.
I need help...