Skip navigation

(made some adjustments to yesterday’s intro to this story, in case you wanna revisit it before you read this part)

just to clarify for you, i’ve waited on just about every imaginable kind of table.  ethnicities, nationalities, personality types, all shapes and sizes–none of that really matters to me.  i like to have fun with people but i stay out the way when it’s appropriate.  every strain of pushy asshole, every strain of forgiving saint.  every man, woman and child.  i’m used to all of it and i’ve developed a feel for sensitive moments.  i’ve talked my way into good graces and out of physical altercations.  i’ve kicked people out and i’ve convinced people to stay.

i was not ready for bird lady.

i did end up bringing these people a few plates of balls of fire for them to share.  by then, bird lady and her husband were isolated to one side of the table and everyone else was trying to talk with themselves while she hovered over them, butting loudly into conversations and spilling her drink.  i decided she wouldn’t be drinking anymore.  she tried to order another drink from me (touching me again), and when i looked at her husband and saw only his bland approval of her, i gave up on his ass.  “yeah, comin’ right up.”  NOT.  i got everyone’s dinner order and considered completely ignoring this table.  i also did what any good waiter does dealing with awful customers:  i complained to my co-workers.  but they already to know what the problem was.  everyone could see.

after i made the rounds and tended to my other tables, i made a pass at bird lady’s table but didn’t get near her or her husband.  i refilled some drinks and even joked with a couple of the others, but when i heard bird lady yapping in my direction–i’d foolishly obliged her request for my name–i just fucking walked away.  i just could not be touched again by that dumb, chattering bag of sticks.  when i returned with food later (my co-workers totally denied my request to run the table’s food without me), bird lady was weeping and had half a ball of fire tottering on a plate in her hand.  she’d clearly eaten some.  ‘OH MY GOD THEY’RE SO HOT.’  i did my usual routine, pulling appetizer plates, offering napkins and hot sauces, and as i was about to walk away and leave them to eat, bird lady ran into me.  i mean she seriously plowed into me like she was falling down.  she was laughing with food and spittle falling out of her mouth.  she had fucked-up teeth and wiry neck veins.  “IT BURNS!”  she braced herself against me and uprighted herself.  she’d dropped her plate and was holding the last remaining bite of her fireball with two fingers. she was breathing hard and slightly choking, but she was still laughing.  “HAVE YOU TRIED THEM?” suicide chills again.  “YOU GOTTA TRY THEM!”

if my mother–bless her infinite serenity and wisdom–hadn’t drilled into me from a young age how important it was to be a gentleman, and if she hadn’t ingrained in me that i was never, ever to hit a lady, i would’ve punched bird lady in the face.  she grabbed the back of my head and smashed the wet fritter against my mouth.

“LADY, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!?  GET A GRIP! DON’T TOUCH ME!”  i slapped the food out of her hand and backed away from her.  the other people in this party all looked like they wanted to die as bad as i did.  and i shit you not, the expression on the face of bird lady’s man was unchanged.  i’d had enough.  i walked away, printed their check (with an auto-grat of 18% on it:  FUCK THEM) handed it to a co-worker and waited in the bar for the table to leave.  i had my co-worker (who understood) close out all of my tables and i didn’t show my face in that room again until bird lady had left.  i couldn’t do it.

check the best part though:  bird lady’s man complained to my boss about me.  about ME.  when i think of the life that guy still has in front of him with the damaged-ass ragdoll he married, i guess i can’t blame him.  it’s not crazy that he’d seek some redress after i yelled at her to her face.  but he did tell my boss that bird lady had only had two drinks.  either that’s a flat lie–or this dude deals with this kinda situation all the fucking time.  i think i actually believe him.

Advertisements

2 Comments

  1. You had me laughing and crying at the same time man. I felt awkward just reading it. Well done…

  2. Don’t worry, bro. Some day, she too will be dead.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: