Be careful, my testosterone-laden lady-loving male customers. I, as your server, have at my disposal all manner of ways to make your date a success or a stalemate. Treat me well, and I'll do everything legally in my power to make you look good and ensure she's a sure thing (tampering with a drink notwithstanding). Piss me off, however, and the only thing you'll be going home with is the salsa stain I failed to tell you about and for which I was likely responsible.
As a cautionary tale, meet Luciano, a hot shot Italian lothario. He would have been much more handsome had it not been for his bizzarely manicured facial hair, bouffant pompadour, and the incendiary scent of his cologne, which seemed a blend of fabric softener and old dog farts.
While waiting for his date, he was polite enough, even friendly. But once she arrived, Luciano gradually became more and more of an ass rash, metaphorically whipping it out so that his date and I constantly knew who was in charge.
As for his date, I'd love to tell you that she was a massive bitch with breasts as even as a water balloon and an orphan sock. I wish I could say she looked like she'd slept in her clown make-up and woken up five minutes before her date. How I'd savor the chance to compare her to a drunken French whore.
But alas, she was a sweet, adorable, apple-pie type girl next door. Which only made me that much more compelled to expose Luciano once his true colors started scratching the surface.
"Hi, I'll be with you in just a minute," I said as she sat down, my hands stacked high with about 10 dirty plates.
"No, you'll be with us right now," Luciano said. "The lady would like a drink."
"Oh, it's fine, you can drop those off and come back!" she said.
I dropped off the dishes and returned.
"Splenda margarita, blended, strawberry," Luciano said.
"Okay," I replied. "And for the lady?"
"That IS for the lady," he said. "I'll have a stoli and tonic."
I returned with the drinks.
"That's not what she ordered," Luciano said dismissively.
She and I exchanged puzzled looks.
"I think it is..." she said.
"No baby, we want it in the bigger glass," he said.
"No, I don't need a double," she said.
"Yeah, this one's great, thanks!"
"Were you two ready to order?" I asked.
"What's the rush, dude?" Luciano inquired. "I think it's really rude to hurry your customers. I'll let you know when we're ready to order." He shoo'd me away with a waive of his hand. I smiled sadly at his date and walked off.
My short fuse had already been reached. I just needed Luciano to be a cock ring one more time, and my plan for vengeance would be set in motion. I knew it wouldn't take much.
And like clockwork, Luciano snapped his fingers five minutes later.
"We've been out of chips and salsa for, like, ever," he said. "What's the deal?"
"Sorry, I'll refill them," I said.
"You're struggling, dude," he informed me.
And with that, the switch was flipped. He underestimated the extent of my acting training, the raw bundle of nerves that dwells inside, soaked with gasoline, just waiting for a match to set them off.
I let the lip quiver. I allowed that beautiful, sole tear to fall from one eye. I looked to the ground, so ashamed of my display of emotion, so dismayed at my vulnerability.
"Ohh...awwwwww," his date said.
"Sorry, I just...I just had to put my cat to sleep this morning, and I couldn't get anyone to cover my shift, so yeah, I am struggling," I said. "I'm so sorry, let me pay for your meal out of my own pocket."
They both sat silently, if not a little awkwardly. For the remainder of their meal, they exchanged very few words. When I set down the bill, Luciano muttered a rehearsed, "Sorry about earlier..." and paid, still only leaving a 10 percent tip.
His date left on her own after offering an insincere "I had a good time..."
Luciano went home alone, hopefully having learned a valuable lesson.