:: Life on Planet Dan-E ::

Thoughts, observations, and introspections from an art student waiter/bartender in South Beach. Arcane humor ensues.
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:: Thursday, November 16, 2006 ::

:: Server Stories: Part XI - Random Conversation ::
I get into some interesting chats with both my customers and co-workers and most of the time, it's standard -of-the-mill restaurant chatter. Hi, where you girls from; yes the grouper is a local fish; I could tell you the recipe for the Scicillian sauce but then the chef would have to kill you. Did you see girls on table ten? I'd like Europeans if they weren't such shitty tippers; did you see the chick on table four? I think the cooks is bitching everyone out. Again. Etc, etc, etc.

Every now and then, there's one that sticks out and makes me laugh when I think about it later. And some of the conversation with my co-workers are such that patrons would probably lose their appetite if they ever overheard us. Here's a few:
  • Three of us, two straight guys a gay guy, were sitting around after work. Somehow, we get to the topic of blow jobs and ML, who's garrulous and can easily dominate a conversation, is doing most of the talking.
    • "Blah blah blah, and personally, I don't know any woman who can give a blow-job as good as a man does."
    • Having tuned him out, straight guy and I suddenly look at him, then we look at each other, and smile, thinking the exact same thing. "I can think of two or three women who give pretty good ones."
    • "At least."
  • I'm waiting on a three-top of middle-aged men a women. They're nice and halfway through their stone crabs, one of the guys asks me my name.
    • "Dan-E," I simply reply, wincing. (Usually if a customer asks for you name, it's not because they want to be your friend. They want to know whose name to holler every time they need some stupid little thing.)
    • "Ahh, Danny. That's a good, solid Irish name." The rest of the table laughs, since I don't look remotely Irish. (I'm way too tanned.)
    • "It is. I'm actually half Irish" I say deadpan.
    • "Are you now?"
    • "Yep, my dad is 1st generation Irish." (I can't believe they're buying this crap.)
    • (Examining me closely) "Oh, I can see that. (I should probably mention that they already polished off a bottle of Pinot Grigio.) Do you have any Irish traits in ya, Danny-boy?"
    • "Well, I can drink three pints of Guinness in an hour and not feel a thing." (This is true.)
    • The guys laugh and raise their glasses. "Here's to you, Danny-boy."
  • Another late night after the restaurant is closed. Everyone's having shift drinks. Mel finishes a beer and burps. I finish off my beer and release a loud belch (not just a burp, a belch), getting nods of approval from the straight guys, and looks of disgust from a couple of a the gay guys.
    • "Dan, that's gross," says MH.
    • I simply smile and nod my head while ML says "at least he didn't do it while customers were here."
    • "I'm sorry but he's just too straight for me."
    • I look at him. "M, that is the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
  • We're standing around the computer terminals during a slow shift. We've been open for an hour and we've had one customer (who ordered to go). One person starts to sniff the air, then another, then another. Someone farted. We scatter. A few of us who ended up at the other side of the restaurant are laughing, but Mel point the finger at Andy. He shakes his head.
    • "Believe me, if I farted, you would know."
    • "Why, 'cuz it smells even worse?"
    • "No, 'cuz it would smell like cum."
    • "Eww!!!" shrieks Mel as she scrunches up her face.
    • I then ask Andy, "So then, what would it smell like if you burped?"
    • "Oh my gawd, you guys are sick." Mel scurries away.
    • Andy just laughs and replies, "I don't do that."
  • A guy walks in five minutes after we close for lunch. "Sorry about that. We open again at 5:30 for dinner."
    • "Do you have fish and chips?" (He says "feesh and cheeps.")
    • "No sir."
    • "Then can you recommend restaurant?"
    • "If you want fish 'n chips, the Playwright over on 13th and Wash..."
    • No, I mean a Chinese restaurant."
    • "Um..." His transcontinental culinary shift catches me off guard. I have to think for a moment. "Try Miss Yips' on Lincoln Road or Sum Yum Guy (that's really what it's called) on Washington."
    • Later that night I'm still trying to figure out how a guy goes from wanting fish 'n chips to suddenly craving chow mein. I'm still not sure.

:: Miscellaneous Ramblings by Dan-E at 3:41 AM [+] :: | 0 comments

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