Hell hath no fury like a pregnant woman kept waiting.
In the midst of a hellaciously busy Friday night, a night normally reserved for people celebrating parole or honing their dine-and-dash skills, I was sat with a party of eight uppity soccer moms and their comatose, latently homosexual husbands.
Two of the four moms were pregnant, and each of the women spoke with the same condescending cadence:
"Ooooh, Liiiiiiiiisa! Your arms are so tooooooooned for a pregnant woman!!!"
"Ooooh, Kristieeeeeeee! I love your HAIR CUT!!!"
"Ooooh, Waiteeeeeer, I'll have more I-C-E-D T-E-A- please!!!"
I found them tolerable only because they were all so heavily medicated (as was I, thank Christ). I could have stripped down to a leather harness and some indiscreetly placed feathers, and as long as I had a pitcher of iced tea and salsa refills, these ladies would continue to beam at me as if I were a retarded child selling candy bars.
When it came time to order, each lady checked in to see what the other was ordering.
"Ooooh, Liiiiiiisa! Tamales? Oh maybe I'll do that!"
"Ooooh, Kristieeeeeeee! Spinach IN-CHA-LAH-DAS? That sounds so Mexican!"
"Ooooh, Waiteeeeeer, what are those thingies that come on that sizzling skillet looking thing, with the peppers and WALK-OH-MOE-LAY? Yummy!"
I turned in the food order and a brought by another round of iced teas.
"You are so helpful!!!!!!!!!!!" Lisa squealed. "You're the best little waiter we've ever had here!"
"Golly, thanks!!!!!!!" I said.
Not two minutes later I brought another salsa refill.
"ANY IDEA WHAT'S TAKING OUR FOOD SO FUCKING LONG?" Lisa asked. It was dark in the restaurant, but I swear I saw her head do a 360 and her eyes change to red.
"I'm sure it will be a few more minutes," I said calmly.
"WHAT???" Kristie bellowed.
"I'm sure it will be a few more..." I began.
"I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME!!" She responded.
With that, I sprinted to the kitchen. Those Stepford soccer moms were really starting to scare the shit out of me.
"Where's the food for table 32????" I asked the manager.
"Huh?" he asked as if he'd just woken up from anesthesia.
"Table 32? Food? Need me to draw an illustration?"
"Ohhhh yeah," he remembered. "We lost a bunch of order tickets when the printer ran out of paper."
"Soooooo, you all haven't even started the food for table 32?" I asked.
"We don't even have an order for table 32."
"Did it dawn on you in your infinite wisdom to maybe ask each of us servers if we had any oustanding orders after the kitchen printer broke?????"
"Ehhhh...ehhhhhhhhhhhh," he replied.
I returned to the estrogen den with the bad news. I hadn't been this nervous since telling the angry customers at my high school Disney Store job that we'd run out of Timon and Pumba Beanie Babies.
"They LOST our order?" Kristie screamed.
Lisa started to cry. An angry cry, which really freaked me out.
"Oh now that's just ABTHURD!!" hollered one of the homosexual husbands.
"You are WITHOUT A DOUBT, the SINGLE MOST INCOMPETENT waiter I've EVER had! And I used to eat at COUNTRY KITCHEN!!!!!!" Kristie informed me. "WE'RE LEAVING!"
"But..." one of the husbands began to protest.
"NOW!" Lisa and Kristie said in unison.
The group of eight left abruptly.
And like clockwork, the food runners arrived with the entrees not 30 seconds later.