surviving the restaurant

So I had a pretty awkward table at work today.  Apparently, they came in for both lunch and to ruin my life.  After an obnoxiously lengthy and complicated order, they let me walk away to punch in their order.

Well, one until one of them, “Jenny,” stopped me to add to her obnoxiously lengthy and complicated order:  “Don’t forget ketchup and mustard.”

Yes.  Thank you, “Jenny.”  I will make sure to put a special note on the order to remind the chefs.  I’m sure they have time for your condiment request.

Or it is irrelevant to them and I’ll bring a bottle to the table like I always do.  One of the two.

Anyway, “Jenny” proceeded to put her credit card at the end of the table.  Then when I went to take it, she pulled it away and told me to bring out the ticket first.  Then “Jenny” proceeded to sign her name to a useless piece of paper as if it were a credit card receipt and run out while I was scraping her plate.

Thank you, “Jenny,” for making my day better.  Or stealing a cheeseburger.  One of the two.

I proceeded to get through my day by picturing “Jenny” as some sort of cunning supervillain.  I half-hoped that as soon as I admitted defeat and totaled out for the day, there would be a rose in my locker with a note that said “Thanks for the burger. –‘Jenny.'”  At which point I would circle around, looking for the culprit, and cry out “Nooo!” to the heavens!

Listen, sometimes there’s not a lot to get servers through their shifts.

For example, on Saturday I noticed the little dessert menu looked an awful lot like  a fold-out police badge from the movies–or the real lifeys, I don’t know for sure.  Anyway, when it came time to sell desserts I would walk up to the table and say something like, “Sir, do you know how fast you were eating?  Dessert PD!  As in Pretty Delicious” and whip out the menu like it were some actual form of credentials.

Yes, I realize how incredibly lame this is.  But I sold desserts to almost all my tables and nothing is more fun than running joke.  Not to mention, I safely managed to annoy my fellow server.

Every time I would pass him, I’d say something like “Fondue the right thing–Dessert PD”  or “Passion fruit is nine-tenths of the law–Dessert PD.”

When he dropped some French fries, I was right there to say “Man down.”

When we were waiting by the window for our food to come up, I would say things like “Dispatch, I need an ETA on that S’mores Cake.”

If my table couldn’t finish their dessert, it was, “Table 13, requesting backup on a cheesecake, over.”

If they finished it all, I would say, “We have a dessert homicide, we’ll have to sugar powder for prints.”

He said, “I’m going to punch you.”

I said, “If you were so smart, you would’ve come up with Dessert FBI and trumped my jurisdiction.”

Whatever, call me crazy.  But nobody had as much fun at that place as I did on Saturday.  Although now I’m sort of the Charlie Sheen of the restaurant…..



7 thoughts on “surviving the restaurant

  1. I feel somewhat responsible for your current state of mind…..I think you need an administrative leave of absence from “the force”.

  2. Ohhhhh….I see what you did there. Your metaphor was too REAL PD and not enough DESSERT PD. Dessert PD would be more like “Turn in your gun and your fudge” or “You’re getting a new partner…He’s a COOKIE fresh from the Academy.”

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