A female patron, who’s very drunk, is staring at her menu in the deluded expectation that it will divine her gustatory predilections and pick out something for her. I’ve never seen a menu do that. Perhaps if she was tripping on acid…..
“Madam?” I prod gently.
“Mmmm. Not ready,” she mumbles.
Then I wait some more. Tick Tock. Tick Tock. After several minutes I decide to intervene.
“Perhaps madam would like the Gamberi con Cannellini as an appetizer?” I prod.
“Yeah,” the woman blurts, “I’d like the Gamberi con Cunnilingus.”
“And the Gamberi Cannellini for madam.” I reply, jotting down the order. My face is completely impassive. Just another day waiting tables.
The woman continues scanning the menu for an entrée. As I wait, I remember the old psychological axiom, “There’s no such thing as an accident.” I glance over at the lady’s husband. Maybe the woman was unconsciously trying to send her spouse a signal. Maybe Hubby needs to, ah…..spend more “quality time” with his wife. Who knows? Some guys are funny that way. Maybe he’s Sicilian.
The woman’s unable to make a decision so I gently guide her towards a satisfactory choice without any more pornographic Freudian slips. Order in hand I march to the back and send it to the kitchen. But I can’t help but wonder what’s going on in that woman’s head. Maybe I don’t want to know.
Suddenly I’m grateful we don’t sell tube steak.