More so than actually working out, some fitness-minded people in L.A. love to tell everyone they work out. Whether posting 1,000 swole selfies on Instagram or willfully wearing active wear in public, they need everyone to know they're better than you in shape.
Todd and Kinzie sat sweaty in my section, clad in tight Lululemon for lunch. He was your typical white jock with generic-handsome looks and a smile that let you know he was an asshole. She was a frigid bitch, trying unconvincingly to feign warmth with her "hiiiiii"s and her "thaaaaaanks"s.
"Hello, anything to drink?" I asked.
"Hiiiiii," she said. "Water for me. Lemon. No ice. And the lemon in a separate cup, not on the side of the glass. Did you get that?"
"Mmm mmm," I said through raised eyebrows.
"Water, bro," Todd said.
I returned with their waters. Todd made it a point to drink all of his water in one gulp.
"Do you have any bigger glasses, bro, or just a pitcher of water?" he demanded. "We just worked out..."
"You don't say," I replied. "And no, we have one size water glass and not enough pitchers for each table to have one."
"Then I guess you're going to be busy refilling my water all afternoon," he threatened.
"Or will I..." I said. "Were you two ready to order?"
"Got any omelettes?" Todd asked.
"No, sorry, we only serve what's printed on that menu in your hands," I said.
"Uh oh, I see a tip sinking!" he said to giggles from Kinzie.
"Oh no, I had such high hopes!" I said. "I'll give you two some more time to figure out our menu."
"No no, bro, we need to eat right away after our work out," he said. "Just give me a side of four scrambled egg whites."
"Again, not to belabor that pesky menu," I said, "but as it doesn't offer any sort of brunch or breakfast options, we don't have eggs for an omelette, we don't have eggs for scrambling, we don't have..."
"Okay, bro, I get it," he said. "Stay put while I decide."
"While he's looking?" Kinzie said in her condescending tone of stating everything as a question addressed to a small child, "Could I just do, like, the salmon burger, but protein style? Meaning, like, two lettuce wraps instead of a bun? Do you know what I mean?"
"I do!" I said. "Fries, salad, or soup?"
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm......salad?"
Todd then proceeded to order, modifying and stripping our gorgeous filet into a weird steak salad.
When their meals arrived, Todd and Kinzie had me take a series of photographs of them flexing and smiling with their food. Once I walked away, Todd then reached for his selfie stick and took another series of photographs. Kinzie photoshopped and edited the photos into a collage for Instagram. A good 10 minutes later, she finally started to eat. And then immediately summoned me.
"Hiiiiiii," she said. "Yeah, this burger is cold. Feel it."
"No thank you," I said. "I think it's cold because you two let it sit for awhile during, you know, the photoshoot?"
"It's not a crime to take photos of our food, bro," Todd said rationally.
"Correct," I said. "But it's not the chef's fault you didn't eat the food right away."
"Bro can we see a manager? Or a different server or a bus boy or someone who's friendlier than you?" he asked.
"That won't be hard," I said.
I summoned our manager from his deep sleep in dry storage. Angered over being requested for something so stupid, he somehow made Todd and Kinzie even less pleased. When I returned to their booth, they were getting up to leave, her fingers furiously clacking away on Yelp.
"Uhm, WHAT'S YOUR NAME?" she said. "For my Yelp review..."
"I'm Kale," I said.
"Kale?!" she said.
"Kale," I said.
And with that, Todd and Kinzie left without paying. I tried to find them on Instagram for some tequila-fueled trolling, but alas, I could not. But once she posts that Yelp review, I'll find her, and I'll have myself one hell of a night commenting on each and every photo (after I work out).