Saturday, October 15, 2005

Waiting in Bars and Restaurants

I am terribly impatient when it comes to waiting for a table in a restaurant. If I walk in and they tell me there is even a 20 minute wait, I get antsy. I’m thinking, I can’t wait around with all theses other knuckleheads. And of course there’s no place to sit, so you’re left standing in the middle of all these people who are thinking the same thing you are.

“I’m going to the bar,” I’ll tell whoever I’m with. But I am actually telling that person that we are all going to the bar because I’m certainly not going in there by myself.

And then instead of waiting in the lobby with the cows- well, when you think about it, hordes of people standing together in a crowded area all talking at the same time sounds pretty close to mooing; you’re left waiting in the bar where you wait to order a drink while waiting for a table where you’ll be waited on.

There’s always this ill formed line, just mounds of people all around the bar waiting for one of the bartenders to look in your direction and get your drink. And why are there never more than two of them to handle the three-hundred of us? Why don’t they just let us back there and we can just serve ourselves? It would be a logical solution. Kind of a buffet style bar. I think it’d be a real hit.

The best way to get the bartender’s attention is to hold money, preferably, wave a five dollar bill. So that’s what I did to show him I mean business. Then I see some other people holding tens, now of course the bartender goes to them first. So I get wise and pull out a twenty. I look over at one of dopes still waving two singles in his hand, I give him a look like, How you like them apples?

I finally get some service and then there’s this very effeminate guy squeezing in next to me and starts whining, “Can I just get a glass of ice…hey! I just need- hello? Can, can I get ice, just ice? I just need a plain glass with ice is all!” What the hell does this guy think he’s doing? If I have to hold up a twenty to get a three dollar drink, he’d better hold up a fifty if he wants something for free.

With my long awaited vodka tonic in hand, I leave a one dollar tip for all his trouble. For what God forsaken reason is this? For crying out loud, these guys have got it made. Everyone’s stuffing singles into that big oversized brandy glass sitting on the counter. Ridiculous. Who’s going to drink that much brandy? Tell you what; give me the drink in that glass so that I won’t have to come back for seconds.

And I believe that I had asked for a wedge of lime. Or rather, I thought it was implied by the type of drink. A vodka tonic always comes with lime. So before the bartender gets too far I ask him for a lime. He drops something in my drink that looks like one of those pie pieces you get in Trivial Pursuit. This is not a wedge. I’ve even gotten the really paper thin slice of lime. What the hell am I supposed to do with this? I can’t squeeze it. Am I supposed to steep it in my drink like a tea bag? One time I got a piece of the lime peel. It was curly and cute, but I didn’t know what it meant. It’s the zest, I was told. Zest is a bar of soap. Gimme the wedge, damnit! I know you got more limes back there! Why are you so stingy with the limes? Give me the lime and a knife and I’ll cut my own piece. A proper wedge that I can squeeze into my drink. Jesus, do I have to do everything around here?


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