Posted on November 30, 2009 | By Patty Pino | No Comments
When she has to repeat the salad dressing choices for the fourth time, because you didn’t listen to her when she said them the first time for the person sitting on your right, the second time for the person sitting across from you, and the third time for the person who is sitting immediately to your left.
When you’re the last party in the restaurant, they’ve been cleaning up for an hour around you, and you have the nerve to order a cappuccino.
When you’re Michael Bolton and you don’t like anything on the menu and you want pasta with none of the sauces the restaurant offers – oh, and it is a SEAFOOD restaurant, by the way, Bolton…… – and you treat her like she should call a special pow-wow with the chefs to magically invent something yummy for you and your group, because, you know, you’re Michael Bolton.
When you’ve doused yourself with that stinky, cloyingly strong perfume. (Everybody hates that about you, actually.)
When restaurant is packed and you ask specifically for olive oil, or pink pepper, or white vinegar, or tarragon, or some other hard-to-obtain-from-the-kitchen condiment to adorn your $4 side salad.
When you won’t stop talking long enough to taste the small wine test pour, so he can actually pour big glasses wine for the rest of your obviously-board dinner companions who are eager to get sauced so they can better tolerate you.
When you ask for 100 refills on your water.
When you’re with a big group and everyone says “No.” when the waitperson says “Does anyone else need a straw or want anything else from the kitchen?” and when he brings back the straw suddenly someone wants something else and, again, the waitperson has to go back and get it, and it keeps happening until he winds up running back-and-fourth-and-back-and-forth more than Curly Neal.
When you spill something of such great liquid volume that it far exceeds the absorbability of your napkin.
When he reads out all of the 12 different kinds of soda they serve, and you ask “Don’t you have Diet Black Cherry Shasta?”
When she’s run around all evening to meet your every dining pleasure and you grab both copies of your credit card receipt when you leave the restaurant, so she gets stiffed on the tip.