When I was in college, I worked at a popular restaurant chain. “We have...we also have...balsa dressing...no...bala-stic... noooo...ohhhhh...BALSMUK Dressing!” He was trying to say Balsamic Vinaigrette, and smiled in the end, quite pleased that he had finally said it ‘correctly.’ I told him I would love some BALSMUK dressing, and we grabbed it and got the hell out of there, with the two of them staring blankly out the window at us as we left. We had mostly picked the restaurant because we could hear ourselves think, but it was nice to have a food option other than “grease and carbs with a side of extra grease.”. My boyfriend repeated the salad order, using large explanatory hand gestures, and skinny meandered around his friend and was off again. Collocations, plurals and idioms have also been used correctly. They serve all kinds of fresh fish and traditional Greek dishes. I don’t know what came over me, but this loud, obnoxious jerk (who was in a rush, of course) came running into my restaurant, he kept asking me questions, then interrupting when I tried to answer...and I just lost a little self control. Guy: I’ll take a burger with lettuce and tomato. “Just put some popcorn in the box and I won’t have to tell your manager about your rudeness.”, I am not afraid of my manager. I went to my table, and they just ordered pizza. I was working in an upscale restaurant that specialized in fresh seafood. Which is cool, but why the fuck would you come to a seafood house, then? I don’t...I’m sorry. I am almost positive Santa is actually a trucker in Arkansas after reading this story.
At this point my dick is fully retreated into my stomach and my nuts were following close behind.
This usually translated into weird requests (“No, I’m afraid we can’t do a credible version of Purple Haze - no vocalist, and no electric guitar…is there something else we could play for you?”) or cranky old farts who wanted to hear moldy oldies, but dialed down to a volume impossible to play. It wasn’t until another employee and a customer simultaneously shot her a dirty look that she abandoned course and bustled her soggy, over-sauced chip-poh-little sandwich out of the store. She then washed the “burn” with lemon juice (it works, I don’t know why, but it does) sprayed some vegalene on it, covered it with plas wrap, cleaned up her station and WENT BACK TO WORK. We add another fistful just in case. A reasonable person might just give up and chalk it up to a crazy, entitled customer and go about the rest of their shift. So I put exactly three pieces of popcorn into the FUCKING COURTESY TRAY I DON’T CARE THAT IT’S PEDANTIC THAT’S WHAT IT’S CALLED and slide the tray over to her.