Restaurant Wars

This happened:

“Is it vegetarian?”

“I think so but I don’t want to ask the chef. He’s mad at me.”

“Well, since I’ll get sick if you’re wrong, I guess I won’t get it.”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”

That was years ago. The restaurant is still there, so I figured she was gone and it was safe to go back.

Like an idiot, I went back.

Yep, she was gone. The replacement server-ette was just as pretty (it’s L.A., pretty is a job requirement in food service) and even slightly smarter. Underline “slightly”.

“I’d like a Pellegrino, please.”

“Oh, we don’t have any of that.”

“Sorry, I thought you did because it’s on the menu. Never mind, Perrier will be fine.” It was also on the menu.

“We don’t have that either.”

Guess what! They didn’t have three more menu items. We ordered. Food came. Shortly thereafter, the server-ette was back. Not to ask how things were, no no no. She came to grab.

“Mngllbkez!” I tried to say around a mouthful.

“Excuse me,” my dining companion translated. “She’s still eating her salad, please don’t take the dressing away.”

My turn to intervene came when my companion was chewing and the server-ette tried to take the bread away.

Before you ask, they didn’t need our table. Only three tables in the whole place had customers. It was after 8:00 last Monday night, and there was more weirdness than just the above.

In case you were wondering why I don’t go out to eat more often, it’s not the vegetarian thing. It’s the sanity thing.