Another form of getting mooned...

Driving home tonight I saw the most gorgeous huge full moon...and then it all made sense.

It was a weird night tonight at work - and not just in my section, either. Although I arrived at 4pm, ready to go, I didn't get my first table until 6:05pm and then we got hit.

Hard.

Within about 10-12 minutes, my entire section was full. Luckily, the first table knew what they wanted so I could get their order in right away, before the onslaught. The entire place was filling rapidly and our timid hostess was having difficulty asking folks to wait 5-10 minutes so that she could pace the waiters a little bit. A 20-top came in and was seated in the lower part of the dining room, adjacent to my section. Jason was going to take them, but asked me to take a couple of tables in his section so that he could manage the large group well. This put me at eight tables, with a ninth coming in 30 minutes. I was a pro and felt confident about picking up the slack. I appreciate that Jason had the good sense to know his limits.

I should have known that table 12 would not be smooth sailing when they asked me for water with no ice. I prefer my water this way, too, although I don't make a point of ordering it like this in restaurants. It's uncanny to me how often there is a direct correlation between those who order water with no ice and those who are high maintenance/demanding/difficult to deal with for whatever reason. Simply. Un. Canny.

And these three women at table 12, each representing a different generation, were no exception. Almost as if on cue with the sort of antics I might expect from such a table, the woman representing the middle generation (who got a B+ in assertiveness training at the local community college) says to me, "I know you're really busy, but is it going to take a long time to get our food after we order it?"

This is a loaded question if there ever was one. Naturally, she wants me to say "no, of course not" or maybe she thinks that, for whatever reason, I'll have the kitchen bump their order to the front because they seem to think that they deserve to eat sooner than the other 65-70 folks who came in the door at almost the exact same time.

There's no way in hell I'm telling them that it isn't likely to take very long. First of all, I have no idea what they intend to order and that will be a primary factor as to how quickly their order is ready. Any one of them orders anything even closely resembling a well-done steak and it's going to be awhile.

I glance over at the large party and notice that Jason has finished taking their order. The woman who is representing the older generation notices my glance. I look at her. She is facing me, but her eyes are all googly and going every which direction and I don't know where to look so I look at her nose.

"That's just horrible - why did you put those people there? They should be in a private room!"

Translated, this means that the large party is being too loud and it's bugging her. I opt to ignore her assertion since I'm certain that it'd be unwise to look at her nose and say, "What the hell do you expect me to do about it?" Her words are angry and it doesn't seem to occur to her that if these 20 folks were in the configuration of five tables of four, and making the same amount of noise, it probably wouldn't bother her. I try to focus on Middle Generation, as she is still waiting for a response from me.

"We're doing our best and - " I'm cut off in the middle of my response to her.

"Oh I know that." She's getting impatient with me.

So, let me get this straight. She knows we're busy. She knows we're doing our best. She is likely well aware that they haven't even hinted to me what they intend to order...and, yet, I'm expected to give her an accurate, yet optimistic, quote on the ETA of their dinners? Knowing full well that this is the perfect time to use the maybe-I-should-be-in-law-school-instead-of-librarian-school phrasing, I walk into her blatant trap.

"Well, it appears that this large group has already ordered and your order will likely follow theirs."

"I asked you a simple question. Can't you just answer it?" Oh jeez, now she's getting all indignant with me. This is never good.

"Ma'am, I did answer your question as honestly as possible. As soon as I take your order, I will give it to the kitchen and then it is out of my hands."

Middle Generation turns to the other two for their input.

"Well, what do you want to do?"

The woman representing Generation X, presumably her daughter, wants to stay and Old Crazy Eyes says something unintelligible. Middle Generation decides that they will, indeed, stay and I'm delighted when they order a salad course before their entrees so their entrees won't seem like they are taking a long time, even if they do. When, six to seven minutes later, I'm setting their soup and salads before them, Old Crazy Eyes turns to me and says, "Good girl! Now that's a good girl!" while her eyes go every which way.

I hate it when elderly people say this to me. I find it so condescending and inappropriate. I'm forty years old and I'm doing my job. And while I don't quite look forty (thankfully), a simple "thank you" will suffice nicely. Interestingly, this was one of the tables that Jason forfeited to me.

There are a lot of crazies in the restaurant tonight, though. A gentleman at one of my tables asked me if the government was eavesdropping on their conversation at the table, I was asked what a calzone was (Kellie Pickler, is that you??), I had someone order a glass of red wine with a splash of cranberry juice, and I had a woman from a table that wasn't even mine grab my arm as I was walking by, with another table's plates of food in my hands, and say, "I want to see what's on your neck" because she was apparently intrigued with one of my tattoos.

While it's true that I can request that the kitchen bump an order up ahead of others, to do so would mean that others will have to wait even longer for their food. And this is not a favor whose welcome I want to wear out, so I use it sparingly and am granted the request every time by our wonderful kitchen staff (who, yes, receives a cut of my tips). If they were regulars, and friendly or good tippers (or, better yet, both!), I'll consider asking this of a busy kitchen. But under these circumstances, I took my chances. As it turned out, they only waited about five minutes after finishing their salads before their entrees arrived. On a busy night, that's golden and I hope they were content with it.

When they were finished and I'd boxed up the uneaten solitary ravioli for table 12, I thanked them as I dropped the check and told them that I would take care of it whenever they were ready.

I kept a close watch and walked by their table, even though it was out of my way, several times to see if they were ready to pay. I suppose I shouldn't have been the least bit surprised when they got up from the table, check in hand, but with no sign of money or credit card on the check tray. I was able to intercept them before they got to the cash register that they seemed to think was stationed near the door and isn't (I don't work at Denny's!).

It all made so much more sense. And I remember thinking to myself, is it a full moon tonight or something???