Delurking Day 2009

Chris over at Rude Cactus invited me to participate in the annual "Delurking Day 2009". ( Thanks to Aimee for the button) This is where we shamelessly pander to the internet and ask our readers to reveal themselves by leaving us a comment. I use this day to relive an embarrassing moment since I have a BUCKET LOAD of those stories.

If you are comfortable, leave a comment. And thanks for continuing to read.

During my first year of university, I worked at a busy restaurant called Kelsey's. One Friday night, during the hours that we were slammed, I was sat a table full of women. This was not a good thing. Women were difficult. I guess I should probably explain that statement.

You see, in the restaurant business, all servers dread three things:

1. PROM NIGHT: Scads of pimply faced high school seniors would make their grand entrance in tuxes and dresses that cost more than my rent at the time. They would sit down, try to order booze and feign shock when I asked them for i.d. that they couldn't produce. Then, they would spend every bit of the fifty bucks that Dad had slipped them with the packet of condoms and the keys to the family car, leaving absolutely nothing for a tip. They were loud, demanding and generally ill behaved. We hated them.

2. FRAZZLED PARENTS: These were the ones that came in asking for a highchair or a booster seat and who looked like they hadn't slept in two years. They had diaper bags the size of Texas out of which they were able to pull crackers, squeaky toys and a McDonald's Happy Meal. Their offspring were demon spawn. They either screamed at the top of their lungs or methodically took every item within their reach and threw it on the floor. Crackers, french fries, crayons, spoons, napkins, sugar packets and salt littered the floor. These people often meant to tip properly but when you picked up their credit card statement after they had left, they had invariably added incorrectly, leaving less than 10%. We felt sorry for these people but wish they had had the good sense to order themselves a Big Mac with that Happy Meal and call it a night.

3. WOMEN IN SENSIBLE SHOES: These were the professional women that felt it necessary to behave like their perception of men in the workplace. They wore their attitude like their business suits: big, boxy and no nonsense. Somewhere in their journey up the corporate ladder, they had shed everything feminine and morphed into uber bitches. They dined in packs and insisted on separate cheques. Clearly, they resented having to sit down to pee and they treated the waitstaff poorly. This was the group that I got on that Friday night.

There were eight of them and my usual approach to women like this was to behave like a competent administrative assistant. I used formal language, was all business and tried to blend into the woodwork when they weren't speaking directly to me. After they settled into their seats, I began the task of taking drink orders. The first seven ordered wine, wine coolers and mixed drinks, which pleased me because the usual behaviour of this group was to order water with lemon which did nothing for my average ticket sales. Woman number eight was slow to make up her mind. I noted her swollen belly and figured that she was trying to decide which non alcoholic drink would be most suitable. I thought I'd try to help her along.

"May I suggest one of our smoothies? We do the real deal here with fresh fruit and milk. They are delicious."

"No," she said, "I'm thinking of something else."

"Well, we can do a virgin version of any one of our blended drinks, if you'd like that."

"No," she said, "I just can't seem to figure out what I'm craving."

"Well," I said, "Caffeine is bad for the baby and alcohol is out of the question so that leaves our cold or hot herbal teas, Seven Up or water."

All of the sudden the entire table was silent and eight pairs of were staring at me, some with obvious mirth. The woman in question was flushed bright red from her neck to her forehead and immediately, I knew my mistake.

"Get me a small draught," she hissed through clenched teeth and then promptly got up and excused herself to the bathroom. I watched her waddle away, my mouth open and my own face hot. I wished for the floor to open up and swallow me whole. The woman was not pregnant. She was merely tubby.

Reluctantly, I dragged my eyes back to the table. Some of the women were giggling. Some were clearly upset at their friend's distress. One of them grabbed my hand and when I leaned down, she whispered, "truth hurts," into my ear. For the better part of the next hour, I served the table, dying a little each time I had to interact with my non pregnant customer. To my great relief the table finally left after lingering over coffee and dessert. I was surprised to find a generous tip from the lady that I had offended.

Several months later, my general manager came up to me with an envelope in her hand.

"A woman left this at the bar for you"

I opened it to find a thank you card from my non pregnant customer. Apparently, shamed by the experience of being mistaken for a pregnant person in front of all of her colleagues led her to do something about her weight and her health in general. She included two Polaroids of her new thinner self and thanked me for my inadvertent honesty.

While happy that this story had a happy ending, I NEVER again made the mistake of assuming ANYTHING.