the bitter waiter: Double, double toil and trouble

Despite the tone of this blog, I do strive to be a friendly, approachable person with all my tables. At first. At least until they exhibit a shred of behavior that rubs me the wrong way. Then I turn into the monster known as Bitter Waiter.

But at least I start off friendly, right?

The same can't be said for Hagatha and Bertha, two cat-loving witches who hated everything in life and decided to bring their dour dispositions into my section.

Hagatha arrived first, Kindle in hand, no doubt reading "It's the World's Fault, Never Yours" or "Misplacing Blame, for Dummies."

As I set the chips and salsa on the table, I could see this visibly upset her. Her sideways glance indicated that I had just set a substantial amount of excrement in front of her.

"Hi how are you today?" I asked.

This was met with a condescending nod, eyes rolled and the works.

"May I bring you anything to drink while you wait?" I asked, acknowledging the second place setting at the table.

"I'm waiting for another person," she said in a somber monotone. "I'll wait until I have a complete party."

Honey the only complete party I see you having involves Eeyore, empty chairs and songs about no one remembering your birthday.

Ten minutes later, Hagatha flagged me down. Everything about her was brooding, brooding, brooding. I wasn't sure if she was going to request something or tell me about Macbeth while stirring a pot.

"I need a glass of water," she said in the tone of voice reserved for "Your parents were on a plane. And they both perished. Supper will be ready in the attic momentarily."

Just as Hagatha was about to give me the next ingredient necessary for her incantation, Bertha arrived.

"God," she said while sitting down. She looked like Stevie Nicks, if Stevie Nicks were 100 years old and relegated to living in her flannel pajama-wear.

"I'm late because that awful chiropractor in Encino kept me 30 minutes longer than expected. And then I had to pick up my cats from the vet."

Naturally. All 60 of them.

"And I noticed my back medication is out, so I had to call the pharmacist."

"And the neighbors left their trash cans out all day so I had to tell them to take care of that."

"And there were no parking spaces here at all."

"And why did we pick this restaurant? It's so loud."

"And I can't ever SEE anything on this menu, it's so dark!"

"Oh hello there," I interrupted before I wanted to hide away with a few cats and some flannel.

She ignored me and continued.

"And then that stupid hostess up there had no idea where you were sitting when I told her I was meeting a friend."

You should have looked for the dark, thundering cloud over table 32. Can't miss it, it's like Moldor.

"May I bring you anything to drink?" I asked.

"I JUST GOT HERE," she stormed. "Can I have a minute or two to catch up with my friend??"

"You have all the time in the world," I said.

Enough time elapsed that I couldn't remember if Hagatha and Bertha were customers from my current shift or the one before. Without being summoned, I bravely returned to the coven to see if the witches desired anything non-human.

"Are you two [witches] ready to order?"

"Two hot teas," Hagatha said while still speaking to Bertha through telepathy.

"And anything to eat?" I asked.

"No," Bertha said while looking directly at me.

When I was seven and hyper, my Dad took me with him to pick up a few pizzas for dinner. Not paying attention, I ran carelessly through the parking lot & toward the restaurant.

I ran directly in front of a moving truck, and was mere feet away from being run over before the truck slammed on its brakes.

Bertha's direct glance scared me far more than that.

"We just want two hot teas," she said. "No food."

So, these two witches came to a loud, dark Mexican restaurant at night to drink hot tea and nibble on chips and salsa?

I delivered the two teas and the bill at the same time. The grand total was $4.95 and they left a whopping $5.50. What the fuck can I do with 50 cents? I just noticed my keyboard doesn't even have a button for the cents sign, that's how useless 50 cents are to me. God, these people...

The witches stayed long after I left for the night, no doubt plotting the demise of all men through an army of cats. As long as I continue to work at the restaurant, I will live in fear of the threat of seeing those two again.

Shivers.

Comments

This might be my favorite post of yours ever. "Supper will be ready in the attic momentarily." "I just noticed my keyboard doesn't even have a button for the cents sign, that's how useless 50 cents are to me." God, I love you.

I also love LJLundberg, if that's his/her real name, because that comment made me spit out my free-trade, carbon-footprint-reducing Diet Pepsi.

Posted by: Rachel | April 27, 2010 at 01:31 PM