the bitter waiter: A dog eat dog world

I'm not often stationed on the patio, as the owners have learned I am likely to bark at prospective customers while they stand outside and consider dining with us.

And speaking of barking, the most substantial reason I avoid the outdoor area of the restaurant is because we allow small dogs. I am not a dog hater, mind you. But if you think I loathe waiting on people, imagine how much I abhor waiting on dogs being treated like people.

Enter Arshig and Lala, two Armenian bimbos clad in pink sweat suits, Uggggh boots, and jet black errant hairs aplenty that looked as if they were plucked from a janitor's broom instead of a scalp.

Also enter Lavender, Lala's miniature dog, housed in a plaid Burberry dog carrier and dressed in a heinous pink dog sweater. If I didn't ultimately find such equal disdain for Lavender as her owners, I would have set the little bitch free.

As soon as I approached the table, Lavender started shrieking and scratching at her carrier.

"Hiiiiiiiiiiiiii," Lala said in an insincere nasal tone that trailed off.

"Hiiiiiiiiiiiiii," I mimicked. "To driiiiiiiiiink?"

"I'd like a glass of wa-tar with no lemon, no ice, and two straws," Lala said.

"I'd like a glass of wa-tar with lemon, extra ice, and no straw," Arshig said.

"Oh and I'd like a little bowl of wa-tar for my baby here," Lala cooed.

This exchange was fairly difficult to interpret, as Lavender's shrill bark permeated the entire patio. I've heard painful orgasms in excerpts from midget porn that were more soothing to the ear.

I returned with the waters.

"Ohhhhhh," Lala said in disappointment. Because she did not elaborate, I ignored her. She looked at Arshig.

"Ohhhhhh," she repeated.

I examined the pocket of my apron for excess lint.

"OHHHHH. Er. Hi excuse me?" she said as if I were 15 feet away.

"mm?" I responded.

"She would like a little bit of ice in her wa-tar," Lala said.

"Do you think she would be satisfied if I just brought out a cup of ice?" I asked.

"No because she wants the water cold, so the ice already needs to be in it."

Right. I forgot about the "10 Second Rule" of ice, meaning it must be placed immediately in the desired liquid or else it is rendered useless and therefore only ornamental.

"Fine," I said. "May I take your order first?"

"She and I will split the chicken fa-JEE-ta, with flour tortillas and extra rice," Lala said.

I folded up my notepad and walked away, but not before:

"Oh wait," Lala said. "And she would like a small side of kobe beef with no seasoning."

"Seriously?" I asked.

Lala and Arshig giggled at each other, mistaking my impulse to strangle them with my apron strings for fondness. Lavender continued to shriek like one of the Chipettes in a gang bang.

"Haha. Yeeeeees!" Lala cooed.

Minutes after the food arrived, I was summoned to the kennel.

"Hi excuse me," Lala said. "I think she thinks this is too spicy."

"She?" I inquired.

"Yeah, the dog?"

Sorry, so hard to tell you all apart.

"Ohhhhhh, she does?" I said with feigned concern. "How can you tell?"

"She keeps, like, coughing. And she won't eat it."

"I see," I said. "Do you think she knows what she might like instead?"

Lala took me at my word. "Well, sometimes she likes chicken."

"And do her tastes lean more towards rotisserie chicken or grilled chicken?" I asked.

With this, my tone had apparently cracked the Kardashian casing of the ladies, as their facial expressions finally registered a more appropriate reaction to my annoyance.

"Uh, nevermind," Lala said. "Ve'll just take the check. You know, they have no problem accommodating us at [the Armenian restaurant] on Santa Monica Blvd."

Pardon me if I'm not intimidated by a C-rated restaurant that boasts "Armenian food" and "auto repair" in the same advertisement.

I delivered the bill. Lala grabbed it quickly, threw in a wad of cash and said, "Keep 10 percent for yourself and bring us whatever change is."

"Aww, ok," I replied. After taking out 25 percent for myself, I returned with the change.

"You three have a great afternoon," I said.

As I walked off, Lavender went into a shrieking frenzy. I accidentally kicked the dog carrier (twice), and walked inside to inform the manager that I suddenly found myself allergic to dogs and therefore unable to ever work on the patio again.