Apparently, I am High

So I'm serving at The Saltlik now. It has its perks. For instance, I make decent money because the food is fairly expensive, and most every customer orders wine. Most of those who enter our fine establishment are either businessmen on their lunch break, who don't even have time to order their food (One guy once said to me "What? Give me a sandwich or something" without even having looked at the menu, or me, or at anything other than whatever crucially important business was in his portfolio at the time. Why would you make a lunch reservation for one, sit by yourself with your work papers, and not even look at the menu? Get a temp to get you a God damned tuna sandwich and stay at the office...) and could care less about you, or friends and families out on the town for a great dinner and a crapload of booze. Businessmen are low maintenance and tip pretty well (it's never their money anyways), and a night of food and wine at the Saltlik for a big party, well, let's just say it's more expensive than a hooker. Than most hookers... well I'm not talking Pretty Woman here, I'm talking hookers who don't have all their teeth and are probably missing a limb, or an eye... I have no idea how much a hooker costs.

Anyway, this Sunday night produced my most memorable table thus far. And by memorable, of course, I mean most painful and excruciating. If you know me, you already knew what I meant. Four people sat down (Their age and gender is irrelevant here, and I wouldn't want to be distasteful... actually yeah I would, it was two couples in their 50's) and ordered martinis and a 60 dollar bottle of wine. This was an excellent start to the evening; an 85 dollar tab without any food on the bill. Being only slightly knowledgeable with regards to wine, I lucked out when they ordered a bottle of wine that I was familiar with: I recommended decanting the wine to let it breathe, and as I watched the happy nodding heads of my elated customers, I could literally, physically FEEL my tip going up. They ordered 35 dollars worth of appetizers, bringing the bill to 120 dollars even, and as I strolled off to the passthrough to punch in their food, I smiled, knowing this table was 'in the bag'.

This 'bag' must have had a large hole in the bottom. Little did I know, the bill would remain at 120 dollars. As I turned the corner to grab a decanter, I realized that there was only one decanter in the entire restaurant large enough to hold a full bottle of wine. No problem I thought; I only have one bottle to put in it! Perfect mathematics. You can't fuck with mathematics. What I did not realize, until I brought the decanter to the table, was that it was filthy. It had not been used in some time (Had it ever been used?), and it was not until I had already set it down on the table, and could see it in the candle light, that I realized how disgusting it was. I'm talking little chucks of some sticky opaque substance on the outside, dust and grime on the inside, and water marks throughout. As I was realizing the state of the decanter the guests were also realizing the state of the decanter, and before I could say "oh shit", the older of the two men had picked up the decanter, and was giving me a most disgusted and unimpressed look. Luckily, I had not yet poured the wine into the decanter, so I simply took it away to clean it. However, cleaning it would prove impossible, as I couldn't get the grime out of the inside. I found a small pipe-cleaner-snake-looking-entity in the passthrough, and was told to use it to clean the inside of the decanter. Sounds simple. I was not, however, instructed to put a cloth around the pipe cleaner thingy, until after I had already begun cleaning the inside of the decanter. As I pulled the clothless pipe snake thing out of the decanter, the pipe cleaner released numerous tiny chunks of the white styrofoamy material, which immediately clung to the small amount of moisture inside the decanter. Now I had a grimy decanter with white styrofoam chunks stuck inside of it. It was time to give up and face the music.

I crept back to the table, my tail between my legs, and informed them that, contrary to my fantastic suggestion, we would not be able to decant the wine, since the decanter was dirtier than a septic tank. They were mildly annoyed but were enjoying their appetizers at this point, and were not too put off by my failures thus far, which were becoming more numerous by the minute. I took their dinner order and punched it into the computer, taking great care to make sure the food was punched in correctly.

45 minutes later, I went back to the table and informed them that their food would be"coming out soon", although I wasn't really sure of this myself. "We are very upset" was their only response, and I let them know that the manager would be coming out to talk to them with the arrival of the food. I thanked them for their patience, although it was obvious to everyone that they were all impatient. 45 Minutes is a long time to wait for food, but why get worked up about it? Perhaps someone pissed in their organic cheerios that morning. The understaffed kitchen was doing quite a good job, but the impossibility of their situation was catching up with them at this point in the night. 4 men can only cook so much food at once. 55 minutes after ordering their food, it was ready and we took it out to the table. Here's where things get crazy.

As the manager and I brought the food out to the table, we again began apologizing for the lengthy bill. She had already decided that we were going to take the food off of their bill entirely, but before this table of sophisticated individuals could be informed of this, they went completely insane. The older woman said, inexplicably, "Have you looked at your server's eyes?". My manager responded "Umm... you mean your server? Well-". "Well I don't think they're always that red" the other woman interrupted, again inexplicably. Before my manager could enter a plea of WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, the older woman chimed in again "God, look at HER eyes too, she's been at it as well". At this point, I'm pinching my own arm to make sure I'm not dreaming. When I realize I'm not dreaming, I'm not sure whether to laugh, cry, or punch a 50 year old woman in the throat. You have to realize, people, that I am probably the least high person in the universe. I'm quick, witty, energetic, I like long walks on the beach... And my eyes are crystal clear. There is simply no redness in my eyes. I am, certifiably, not at all high. If anything I'm low, and I don't even know what the hell that means.

My manager and I were dumbfounded, and as we looked at each other, wide-eyed and still too confused to be insulted, we were rescued by a setter who had overheard the accusations. "Listen, she's just trying to help, she wants to take care of your food and make sure you're happy. There is no reason to be rude." You know, this isn't exactly what he said, it was something close to this, but it was even better. It was at once calming and intelligent, but also authoritative and assertive. It was pretty amazing actually, just came right off the top of his head, out of his mouth, and into the history books. Well, we did end up taking care of their food, the reception of which made them all a bit more jovial (perhaps, as dogs, they are simply upset when someone fucks with their chow?). I served them, begrudgedly, with a plastic smile and false happiness, for the rest of their stay, and they gave me a 22% tip on the reduced bill of 120$. I'm not sure if they felt bad or if they were too stupid to do math. Maybe both. For people who think that everyone in the service industry is high, simple mathematics must be challenging at times. It must be difficult to multiply and add with the collective Intelligence Quotient of a rotting stump. But what do I know... I'm high as a kite, remember? WEEEEEEEEeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEE I'M SO HIGH WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

Spiker