For The World Is Hollow And I Have Touched The Pie

, , , , , | Right | October 5, 2020

I work in an international-themed diner popular with tourists. Different tables have different themes from all over the world, and the menu is full of signature dishes from many countries. Our pies are stored in a large glass globe, with the continents etched on to them – very cool-looking in my opinion!

 A tourist family comes in and their young boy (maybe four or five) immediately sees the chocolate pie contained within the globe, and he is transfixed.

Me: “Hi, welcome to [Restaurant] what can I get you?”

Father: “We’re from New York; do you have any dishes from there?”

Me: “I’m afraid not, sir, as the menu theme is international. Was there something specific you were looking for?”

Mother: “This is ridiculous! What about our children? They can’t eat this foreign crap!”

Me: “We do a simple children’s’ menu, ma’am, that contains burgers and fries?”

Mother: “And for dessert? What are my children supposed to be rewarded with for good behavior?”

Weird question, but okay.

Me: “The children’s menu has a chocolate brownie and ice-cream, ma’am.”

Father: *Looking at the menu* “$5.95 for a brownie! That’s highway robbery!”

They continue in this vein for a while, and I finally get their orders down (with half the flavors or ingredients taken out because they sound “foreign.”) They are adamant that they are NOT ordering dessert for their son, even though he keeps whining for some. The parents stay quiet enough throughout the meal, staring at their phone mostly while their son remains generally well-behaved.

I am serving some other customers (we’re very busy) when the father storms up to me.

Father: “You’re trying to poison my son!”

I suddenly fear an allergic reaction and go into medical mode. As I am asking questions he points to his son, who is gulping down ice water and looks very uncomfortable.

Father: “How can you give him something so spicy!”

Me: “Sir, there’s nothing spicy on the children’s menu. I—”

I stop and look closer. The boy’s face is covered in chocolate, as are his fingers. I glance over to the glass globe and realize what has happened.

Me: “Sir, did your son, perchance, eat some of the chocolate pie from the bar?”

Father: “Certainly not, he—”

The father looks over at his son, looking properly as if he’s noticed him for the first time, including all the chocolate smeared everywhere.

Father: “—he… he might… you should have been watching him!”

Me: “Sir, that’s your job, not mine, although I do apologize for not noticing your son helping himself to our Montezuma chocolate pie, a delicious chocolate and chili recipe from Mexico.”

The father huffs and storms off. I got more ice water for the poor boy, but hopefully, that taught him a lesson about stealing food!

I made sure the pie was on their bill.

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