Forks, forks and more forks!
Living in this day and age, I have discovered that many people out there suffer from a kind of frustration that seems to interfere with their daily living. Their frustration and anxiety seem to display themselves in this twisted Napoleonic micro dictator type of behavior. They verbally assault anyone they think they can get away with bossing around. Such was the case a few nights ago when I witness the trauma that was the funky fork fiasco.
It was too late to cook dinner, most restaurants were closed, but we were hungry. Luckily our local pancake place was opened until midnight, so food was obtainable. We got there and were promptly seated. Our waitress was friendly and efficient, as she was there to introduce herself to us within moments of our sitting.
We ordered dinner, and drew on out paper placemats with the crayons that were provided to us by the restaurant. We were content and relaxed and basically happy to be there. Our dinner arrived quickly and as we ordered it. The food was plentiful and tasty. All would have been perfect if it wasn't for the management.
Suddenly from behind us, we hear this bossy droning. The droning was coming from a woman who had the demeanor of an assistant manager with something to prove. She was in full fledged dictator mode. She was the Flatware Fascist. I saw the poor unwitting victim of her harassment. It was a young man of color. Ms. Napkin Nazi, in her trailer trash accent was berating him with accusations of not filling the silverware bin to the tippy top.
The pain continued on and on and on. This dish despot would not relent. She had the taste of power and could not let go. She went on about the forks, about rolling them in napkins, about how full the bin should exactly be in the morning. This guy works for tips, at a place that the average bill is $30. He doesn't need to take this kind of crap, but he did. He took it with dignity, despite the fact that this mayonnaise monarch would not let up. Once the guy went over to take care of his customers and was out of range of the grief, the dining room director started going on about it to other employee who just happened to be in the vicinity. On and on, blah blah blah. Bossing everyone around and making their lives impossible.
Finally, when our meal was done. Yes we had to listen this though out our whole meal. We asked for the check. Over in the kitchen we could hear some of the workers chatting in Spanish. My friend, who understands Spanish, starts cracking up. Apparently, these people were the resistance movement. They were openly mocker miss dinner despot. It wasn't their fault that she didn't speak their language. We left a few disparaging remarks for the Table wear Tyrant, but she never got them since they were written in crayon on the place mats that were bussed off the table. To us she was just a pathetic wannabe, even though in her world she was the Queen of Ketchup. It just goes to show how ridiculous you look when you think you are at your coolest. Just something to keep in mind.