My Name is Clark Kent

Now that I’m thirty-seven I need glasses in order to read. Not prescription eyewear, just a good set of readers you can pick up at any pharmacy. Years of reading books, peering into computer monitors, and working in low lighting have taken their toll. At least the glasses lend me a professorial air.

I’m constantly taking the glasses on and off. I’m always reading something – a dupe pad, the POS monitor, or an order form. Sometimes I’m wearing them tableside. Sometimes I’m not. This occasionally leads to confusion….

A four top sits in my section. I’m wearing my glasses. I go to the table, special, cocktail them, and take their order.

When I deliver the apps I’ve taken the glasses off.

“Excuse me,” a rather distinguished looking man says, “Could you ask our waiter to come over here?”

Huh? I am the waiter.

“I beg your pardon sir?” I ask.

“Could you get the waiter with the glasses?”

I stifle a laugh. Without my spectacles this guy thinks I’m a completely different person.

“Right away sir,” I reply.

I duck out of sight and put my glasses back on. I return to the table.

“How can I help you sir?”

“I’d like another Manhattan please,” the man asks.

I make a little bow and go to make the man’s drink. I take my glasses off and deliver the cocktail to him.

“Who wanted the Manhattan?” I call out.

“It’s for me,” the man signals.

As I place the drink in front of him he peers at me intently.

“Hey, you’re the same guy!” the man yelps.

“Actually my evil twin works here too. I guess you’ve met him,” I reply winking.

The table busts out laughing.

“Arthur it’s always been the same guy. You’re the one who needs glasses,” his wife teases.

Chagrined the man take a sip of his drink. “Your other brother is the handsome one,” he says.

Touche my brother. Touché.

I put my glasses back on. The table’s cracking up. “So I look better with the glasses on?” I ask.

“Actually nothing can improve your mug,” the man ripostes. I like this guy. He’s customer you can screw with.

An optometrist eats in our bistro almost every day. He’s left us a pile of business cards. I leave the table and go and fetch one. Returning I hand the card to Arthur the Blind.

“Call this guy. He can help you pick out a nice pair,” I say triumphantly.

“Ok, ok,” the man says waving his hands in surrender.

“If I may say sir, you desperately need them,” I continue. The table is in stitches.

“I like your other brother better,” Arthur laughs.

“Make sure you leave him a nice tip,” I counter.

Arthur’s wife turns to me and says, “You are the first waiter to ever give it back to him. Good for you.”

Lady, I’m letting him off easy.

“For everything there is a first time,” I say.

The table finishes dinner. I hand the check to Arthur sans spectacles.

“Here you go sir. Please don’t be mad at my brother. He’s a bad, bad waiter.”

The man chuckles and takes the checkbook. When I return the book is stuffed with cash.

“That’s all for you,” Arthur says smiling.

“Thank you sir,”

I move out of sight and count out the bills. On a $200 check I get fifty bucks. Righteous.

The table gets up to leave. I thank the man for his generosity.

“You’re a good sport sir,” I say.

You really threw me with the glasses.”

“Well sir,” I say opening the door for him, “now I know how Clark Kent got away with it for so long.”

The man roars with laughter and walks out into the humid night.

As I watch him go I realize Clark Kent and I have a lot in common. Like the reporter from the Daily Planet I too have a secret identity to protect.

Mild mannered waiter by day – Superblogger by night! Hey, I’ve always wanted to be a superhero. I think I’ll indulge myself in that delusion for a while.

Just call me Clark Kent.

Now where’s a phone booth?


Comments

My Name is Clark Kent — 17 Comments

  1. your blog was flashed on my local news channel this morning. they were talking about being ‘rushed’ out of the restaurant. i remembered that post you had recently about the restaurant being a business and not their personal dining room. maybe i should call and tell’em. ;)

  2. awesome, Clark Kent, the superblogger. If only some of those rotten customers could know, then they’d treat you better and tip you better. Awesome tip, bud! Woo Hoo!

  3. It’s nice to hear about some fun tables, especially as a contrast to all the other crappy tables/people you post about. :)

  4. You should have been a priest. If you can wait on these tables with such style and grace and wisdom, possibly you could wait on HIS table.

  5. I found your blog by way of jomama. I’m entertained so far;> You sound like a terrific waiter…I couldn’t hack it as a server.

  6. It’s so interesting to me how sometimes guests really don’t pay any attention to you. NOT ALL OF THEM, mind you, but there are without a doubt a definite few. At my restaurant, there are 4 brunettes and only 2 of us have similar body shapes and heights. (I am one of them) I do not wear glasses and the other comparable waitress does wear glasses; tables confuse us frequently. We don’t really look alike either; it just goes to show how oblivious people are. Sometimes it seems that we are messing with the guests because they will ask one of us for something and comment to the other one as if we were the one that they had asked initially. I had a table pull me aside not too long ago and insist (angrily) that “The a/c should be off by now, it’s very drafty, and you should’ve asked the manager to fix it by now!” I had no idea that any of this was going on as it was not my table. I told them I would remind him (my manager) again… They had no clue I wasn’t their actual server. *sigh* I’m just another of the faceless masses of food servants…

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