Eeeeeeeeeevery January, without fail, I'm greeted by customer after customer who inform me that he/she is following a strict diet in accordance with yet another blindly followed American tradition, the New Year's resolution.
And eeeeeeeevery January, without fail, I look at these people sideways as the smells of melted cheese, butter, flour tortillas, and fried fill-in-the-blank flow through the air.
Juanita, a rather testy regular who could stand to lose a few pounds and a lot of entitlement, decided to take her resolutions and snotty personal assistant to my section. Juanita is a D-list children's talent agent whose clients have appeared in such prolific projects as "Discount Toys catalogue" and "Regional Del Taco commercial."
I greeted them with the standard chips/salsa spread.
"Uhm, no," Juanita said with a dismissive wave. "We'll be eating healthy today," she said condescendingly, as if I were the unattractive one in this equation.
"Don't you have those kale chips?" she asked.
"We don't have those kale anything," I replied.
Juanita took to her menu fastidiously, relishing the chance to prove me wrong. Alas, as has been the case every time I've donned my gin-drenched apron, I was right.
"Well I know you did at some point," she said.
Right. Probably somewhere in between our cheeseburger burrito or our peanut butter and dark chocolate flan.
"Yeah this place seems like it would have kale," I said. "Anything to drink?"
"Just. Water." she said as if I'd posed this question six times in rapid succession.
"And for you?" I said to the poor assistant.
"JUST. WATER." Juanita said again. "Stop trying to 'upsell' or whatever it is you waiters do."
I don't upsell. I don't give a flying fuck if you order merely a to-go bag and practice taking deep breaths, you abscess from Satan's asshole.
"At the risk of being too salesman-y, are you ready to order your entrees?"
"Nope," she said.
I returned with two waters, and the assistant was gone.
"She went to buy kale for me at Whole Foods," Juanita informed me triumphantly.
"Oh NO I guess you win!" I said sing-songy. "Shall I wait for her to return or were you ready to..."
"Just a grilled chicken breast for me," Juanita interrupted. "And she'll have a grilled chicken quesadilla."
I turned to walk away, but
"Oh," she said, "and when she's back with the kale? I want you to prepare it with my entree."
Yeah? Well I want Joe Manganiello to draw me a candle-lit bath, massage my feet and ask me about my tough day at work, and even still the odds are more so in my favor than yours, you grotesque old hag.
"Sure," I said, "We can either prepare that in butter on the grill, or in butter on the stove."
"On the stove with butter," she said, not catching the implied chink in her dietary armor.
Her assistant returned from the thankless task of fetching kale.
"I want her to go back into the kitchen with you to instruct the chef on how to prepare it properly," Juanita told me.
"Our 'chef' doesn't allow non-employees back there, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to wing this myself."
She gave me a highly unrealistic list of things to do/not to do with the kale. Ultimately it was soaked in butter on a stove for about 10 minutes and then delivered to Juanita.
She took a bite.
"No," she said sourly. "No no no. This kale is no good."
"Weeeeeeell then you might want to have your assistant take it back to Whole Foods, as we don't handle their returns and exchanges."
Juanita made the inevitable request for the manager, who didn't bother wiping sour cream off his face and clip-on tie before heading her way. His indifference matched mine, and Juanita left in a huff, paying her bill to the penny with an obnoxious amount of coin. She left no tip, only her bag of kale.
She did, however, remember to take her fat ass with her.