Sunday, January 21, 2007

seen it all?

It is funny how you never seem to reach the point where you actually 'have seen it all'. You may THINK you have. I occasionally get the idea that I have. Then something comes along that shatters that illusion .

I am working the other night, standing at the counter talking with a couple of the regulars.

I see Rosie standing off to the side and don't really pay much attention to her. I presume that she is just listening in on the conversation to see what we are talking about. A while back I did a few posts called "anatomy of a restaurant". I never covered Rosie, but I suspect there is at least one in every restaurant in America.

Rosie is the local chapter of the rumor mill or rumor control. Rumor Rosie she is called by some. Nosey Rosie by others. Want to know who is sleeping with whom? Rosie is your man. Want to know who is about to be fired, hired, transferred, or promoted? Rosie is your man. Actually to be more P.C. I suppose I should say Rosie is your rumor 'person'. Need to know who failed a drug test, cussed out a customer, or didn't change their underwear this morning? Ask Rosie. Mind you Rosie is wrong as often as she is right, but that doesn't even come close to stopping her from sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. Hell it doesn't even stop people from going to her to get the latest gossip A few minutes later I turn around to see Rosie still standing and waiting to speak to me.

"What's up?" I ask giving her a 'what are you still doing here' look.

"Can you go talk to table 8, they found a hair on their plate of onion rings."

I don't by any means want to sound like this is acceptable. From a guest view point it clearly is NOT and I totally understand that. At the same time, from a restaurant stand point it DOES happen and not much can be done about it. Irregardless of hairnets, hats, and such, it still happens. I head over to the table in order to assess the damages, knowing full well they have just gotten some free onion rings at the least. Depending on their level of disgust, they may well get the whole meal.

"How we doing over here folks, I understand we have a little problem?" I say surveying the scene. I see the onion ring plate, with little splotches of ketchup all over it. I don't see onion rings. I don't see a hair either.

The husband is a rather large fellow and doesn't appear to be upset at all. Knowing how irritated women get if they feel you are looking at their boobs I always(well okay 98% of the time), try not to. I especially try not to take advantage of the 'perverts eye view' a standing table approach offers. I will never understand why say in a club environment women who have them all but on display have the audacity to get annoyed when someone looks, but that is a post for another day. That said I can understand how the standing approach could be offensive so the gentleman in me avoids looking 'directly into the sun.'

Through practice I have gotten pretty good at this if I do say so myself. All that practice has gotten me to the point that it almost comes naturally. It is almost a reflex action now. Some sort of anti Pavlov's reflex. The eyes see cleavage, the gentleman side of my being(G) knows to immediately take over, shut off communication to my penis(P) and direct my eyes to make immediate eye contact.

Like I said, this took practice. Many many battles between P and G were fought over the years until finally they came to a compromise. In the proper place or time, if the lady in question shows any sign of interest and I am currently single all bets are immediately off. P can repair those downed commo lines in a heartbeat and G has agreed to at least let P drive for a bit while staying close to the emergency override button. In exchange, P has agreed not to take advantage of a servers point of view in order to look down a woman's shirt, no matter who she is.

Like I said, practice......

Cleavage,.......eye contact!
cleavage? ........eye contact!

The drill had been rehearsed thousands of times. Contingency plans had been made....If you can't make eye contact

look at the ceiling,

look at the floor,

something, anything.

So there I was at the table, looking at the plate safe and secure in the knowledge I had seen it all. Like I said, the man didn't seem to be put out at all. If there was a hair it apparently didn't bother him enough to stop him from continuing to eat.

Cleavage? ......eye contact.......

While I am relieved to realize this means they can't be TOO upset, safe to say I find it a bit disturbing as well. The little girl looks up from coloring long enough to smile and say hello to me. I have a moment to think perhaps Rosie was mistaken or that I heard the wrong table number.

"There was a hair in our onion rings" the wife says while I ask the young lady what she is coloring. Involuntarily, I look down at the plate again figuring surely I just missed it.

"It is right there", she says reading my mind. Following her pointed finger, sure enough, right there in a little bit of ketchup is what appears to be a mustache hair. I find this a bit odd, since NONE of our cooks on staff has facial hair. I am the only male in the building on this night, and since I DO have a mustache it immediately makes me feel a bit guilty even though I know I haven't been anywhere near the kitchen or their food.

"Yes ma'am I am VERY sorry about thaaaa" I begin while turning towards her and simultaneously noting there is no cleavage on display to worry about. This, while at work and trying to be 'professional' comes as a bit of a relief.

I relax

.........and shift into eye contact anyways on three, two, one......

whoa! mystery solved.......She has a mustache that makes mine look like I am still in 6th grade.

Brain: "Screw that, there will be NO free onion rings much less meals when the hair came from the people at the table. That the offending mustache was a woman's was new but still....."

1 comment:

The Sarcasticynic said...

Sounds like she was not very testosteronically challenged.