Every now and again, someone tells me a story that is so ridiculous, so outlandish that I think about it for weeks and wish I had been there. A few weeks ago I was at lunch with two of my girlfriends. The are both servers/bartenders. At one point the three of us all worked in the same restaurant, They were out on the floor and I was one of the chefs (more on that later). They are truly two of my favorite people in the world; Sally and Ruth.
The three of us met for lunch at our favorite Pho restaurant, I was late due to being stupid enough to take I-4 on a friday. The normal pleasantries were exchanged,hugs, kisses all of that. We ordered our food, and once we began eating, Sally decided to tell us a little story….
We all have cursed tables every now and then, For Sally it was table 11. Sally began her story with a few other short tales about how and why table 11 was cursed, and how she was going to perform an exorcism on it the next time she was at work.
It was a slow night at Sally’s restaurant. It was raining, which kept most guests from coming in, unfortunately the only ones crazy enough to go out in the rain were just that; crazy. The hostess sat a woman at table 11. From the get go Sally could tell that something was not quite right with this woman. She was muttering to herself and holding her knife just a little too tightly. Of course she had dietary restrictions,which may or may not have had to do with the fact that the woman was batshit crazy. Sally asked a Chef to come out to speak to this woman, about her restrictions. After going down the list of things the woman could not have, BatShit and the Chef came to the conclusion that the pork entrée would probably be best for her. Sally put the order in the computer, and refilled BatShit’s drink. Not that BatShit noticed, as she was in deep conversation with an imaginary person at table 12, that nearly every other guest in the restaurant was watching.
When her food came out, Sally witnessed as Batshit took one bite and made a face as if someone had stuck a red-hot poker up her ass. She then picked up her bowl, walked into the bathroom and threw it in the trash (Sally did go into the restroom just to double check). When Batshit returned from the restroom, Sally inquired as to why Batshit took a perfectly good pork entrée and threw it in the trash.
Batshit’s response: Even my Mexican neighbor Paco would not eat that Hot steaming bowl of Demon Fire you just tried to serve me.
Apparently Chef left out the fact that the pork dish is indeed a little spicy.
People, I could not make this shit up if i tried, I really don’t have the time…
Sally attempted to appease Batshit, but it was to no avail. Babs, the manager, came out and offered Batshit anything she wanted on the menu free of charge. Batshit would have nothing, except more lemonade. She told the manager something to the effect of “and now I am going to just stay here for a while, because I know it bothers you”.
Sally left BatShit alone, in her own little crazy world where she continued to talk to herself and hold her little steak knife. While Sally was taking care of her other guests, A woman seated in the section next to Sally’s called her over and informed her that she was a mental health nurse. She told Sally that the woman at table 11 was suffering from a psychotic break, and it was about to come to a nasty crescendo right there in the dining room if someone did not call 911 right away. Babs was informed, and she called 911 stat. Just as it was about to get real in the dining room, the men in the white coats showed up and whisked BatShit off to a padded room without a view. Nothing like having a guest committed during a shift on the floor.
No folks, I could not make this shit up if I tried…Like I said. I just don’t have the time.