Monday, November 20, 2006


The hostess escorts a young couple to my section. As they walk to their table I notice they’re looking around nervously, like they’re out of their element. Maybe the Bistro’s the first fancy restaurant they’ve ever gone to. I sigh inwardly. Experience tells me I’m gonna get a lousy tip.

The couple sits down and opens the menus. The girl’s eyes widen when she sees the prices. She says something to the boy I can’t hear. He holds up his hand reassuringly. His expression says he’s saved his pennies. He’s got it covered.

As I approach the table I notice a weird halo enveloping the boy’s head. As I draw closer I realize his angelic countenance is not of divine but chemical origin. The kid’s used so much hair gel I’m afraid the overhead lights will combust his head. The young man completes his ensemble with shiny sharkskin pants and a t-shirt that looks sprayed on. I’m envious the kid can get away with that look. I haven’t been that skinny since I was in high school.

Read the rest of WaiterRant’s experience here.

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