Wisdom comes with age, sometimes....

I tend to be nocturnal. Many of my fellow food-service employees also share this tendency. But for some reason, on days like today when I'm off work, it's even worse. I have this strange sense that I haven't done enough in order to sleep. So despite the early wake-up that is looming in my near future, I'm awake and typing.

I suppose that I haven't burnt off enough energy. Being as today was my birthday, I did as little as possible. In fact, I did almost nothing. I went out to get a pizza. Other than that, nothing. I took a nap, read some news, and looked at restaurant reviews online. Yes, I'm aware that reading reviews is a goofy and dorkish pass time, but I enjoy it. I really enjoy the negative ones. Sometimes you can find a link to all of that person's reviews, and usually, if they've fired off one scathingly terrible review, they've written several. Each one of which shows a deeper level of bitterness and contempt than the previous one. There are some really miserable bastards out there, who just aren't pleased with anything. Terribly difficult people.

I encountered one today when I was out for the pizza.

Although it was my birthday, and my girlfriend had offered to buy me whatever I wanted for dinner, I elected for a simple salad and pizza. We went to a local place called Stefanina's. I'm sure that many of my readers from the St. Louis area are familiar with it. It's nothing spectacular, just pizza and pasta type joint that's been doing business in the suburbs since the early seventies. Considering how much time I spend in restaurants working, it's probably understandable by most of my readers that I would want to keep dining experiences in my free time as casual as possible. I wanted something dependable, cheap, and unhealthy; in a place that would tolerate my dirty cargo shorts, flip-flops, and toenails which haven't been trimmed in two months. A place where the servers don't have to blow a bunch of institutional, up-selling smoke at me, and no one cares if I lie my face on the table while I wait. That's how I roll on my birthday. So casual and laid back that a stranger could easily mistake me for a homeless man who's had far too many barbiturates.

We went at 3:45pm, because I also desired to avoid both the lunch and dinner rush. I was in no mood to be inside of a busy restaurant. It makes me nervous and itchy when I know the kitchen is in the weeds and I can sense urgency from the servers. Plus, other patrons could be disturbed by my total lack of concern regarding my appearance. I'd much rather be the only table in the restaurant, watching the waitresses roll silverware and talk about how their ex-husbands are terrible assholes. This is the sort of thing that makes me feel good and relaxed.

So there we were. Eating a chef salad with some peppercorn-whatever dressing, waiting on a pepperoni and bacon pizza, when this old couple were sat in the booth beside us. The trouble started almost immediately.

The waitress came to their table. The conversation was initially comical, but began to grate on everyone's nerves as it continued. This is how it went down...

Waitress (W-) "Hi, how are you? What can I get you all to drink?"
Male customer (C-) "We need two small salads to start with."
W- "So just water? No soda or iced tea?"
C- "Two salads."
W- "Alright... What kind of dressings would you like?"
C- "We get a senior citizen's discount also."
W- "Alright, I can take care of that... What kind of dressings would you like?"
C- "We get a senior citizens discount."
W- (Now speaking louder) "Yes sir, but what kind of dressings would you like?"
C- "Two small salads."
W- (Now showing barely perceptible signs of frustration) "Sir, I cannot continue without you telling me what dressings you would like on the two salads."
C- "Oh. Uh, she'll have Italian and I'll have Ranch"
W- "OK. Two small salads, with Ranch and Italian. Do you know what you want to order for the entree also?
C- "Did you hear me say that we get a discount? Did you write that down?"
W- "Yes sir. Are you also ready to order the rest of the meal?"
C- "Yeah. I'll take the spaghetti, and she'll take the carbonara."
W- "Alright, I will get that in for you, it shouldn't take long at all..."

At this point the waitress starts to walk away from the table. When she's a few steps away, he calls out in a loud voice, "Uh miss! Aren't you going to ask if we'd like something to drink?" His tone is becoming a bit snotty through his country accent.

The waitress pulls the order book back out of her apron, and re approaches the table. "Yes, of course. Would you like something OTHER than the water you initially ordered?" The "other" part of the comment catches my ear. I glance at her face and notice a slight blush in her cheek and a pulsation of her jaw muscle. Her face is blank, but I'm very experienced in detecting hidden anger in the female face. She's at a light boil.

C- "Well I'd like a big beer (whatever the hell that means) and she'd like a diet Coke."
W- "Alright. And what kind of beer would you like?"
C- (Becoming combative) "A large draft beer!"
W- (Loudly, and no longer patient) "Yes. I understand. But WHAT TYPE OF BEER?"
C- "You know! One of those large draft beers you all serve. A big one."
W- "Bud light? Miller? Heineken? What?! WHAT KIND?"
C- "Oh, uh, well, Bud Light or whatever is fine. Whatever."
W- "Alright. Large Bud Light draft and a diet Coke. I'll have those right out."

As she walks away, clearly irritated, the old man and his wife shared a muffled conversation about how the waitress wasn't very friendly. The wife suggested that perhaps she is merely a bit "mentally slow". By this time, I'm starting to get a bit edgy.

The waitress walked immediately to the servers station, and began punching their order into the computer. She was really hammering away. I was slightly concerned that her index finger would snap in half.

When she was finished, she grabbed our pizza from the window and brought it to us. She inquired as to whether of not we needed anything else, like red pepper and such. We told her no, and that we were fine, and thanked her. As she walked away from our table, past their table, the older man stopped her again.

C- "Miss, are those drinks going to come to the table any time soon?"
W- (Now at a full-boiling rage) "It's been thirty seconds since you managed to order them, if you can manage to wait another 30, I'll have them here."

I was becoming frightened now. This waitress was clearly crossing into the danger zone. She was about to lose it. She went to the bar, grabbed the beer, and then fetched the diet Coke. She returned to the table well within her 30 second prediction. She set them on the table, and said "Alright, and those salads should be ready in just a second." Unfortunately, he cut her off in the middle of the sentence. "Now, miss, do you think you could get those salads? We're hungry..."

Her body turned and started walking away. Yet her head did not. It swiveled like the head of an owl, almost mechanically, keeping her eyes firmly fixated on his, as the rest of her body was walking briskly in the opposite direction.. The look on her face was one of sheer hatred. I once saw the same look on the face of a female bartender right before she tomahawked a bottle of Beefeater gin at some guys face.

Up to this point I had been laughing silently. I generally cut the elderly quite a bit of slack. They can't hear, and they often have trouble understanding some things, and modern life can be tough for them. But this guy was just an asshole. Plain and simple. Still, he was just too old for me to verbally accost. I can't say snide things to people who are tippering on the back edge of existence, regardless of how detestable some can be.

Things calmed down some then. A few other tables were seated. I saw two salads appear in the window. But the waitress let them wait for four or five minutes. She took other drink orders and hid for two minutes. Eventually, she dropped the salads, and later the two pastas, without saying a single word.

She made a pass by both tables asking if all was well and if anyone needed refills, or boxes, or anything. Both my table and the older couple requested nothing. She assured both tables that the checks would be coming shortly. She then went to the server's station, printed the checks, and stuffed them in her apron pocket. Next, she grabbed a pizza from the window, and started walking quickly to drop it off on the other side of the dining room.

While she was walking with the pizza, perhaps 40 feet away from us, the old man spoke once more. In a voice loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear, he yelled "Miss! I'm going to need a box!" at her.

She glanced briefly. The look on her face was terrifying. Otherwise she pretended as if it hadn't happened. She dropped the pizza off, then swung around and gave us our check. It was 24 dollars.

She then walked to the older couples table, and in a slow and maniacal tone, said "I'm sorry... Did you say... that you NEEDED something?"

My girlfriend dropped 30 bucks on the table and we split. Fast. I didn't want to be around for any more of it.

I'm a busy guy. I just wouldn't have had the time to testify at the trial anyway....