Going In For The Scoville

I’m a waiter at a restaurant. One of the first lessons I learned is that, at any respectable food-serving establishment, everything that is listed on the menu, no matter how esoteric, is there because SOMEONE wants to eat it; if it’s there for good instead of temporarily, it’s because ENOUGH people will eat it to be worth teaching the staff how to make it. 

Exhibit A is a steaming plate of Hellfire. You’ve heard about spicy wings so murderously hot you have to sign a waiver to serve them?

Yes, they’re real. 

Yes, there are people who actually ENJOY them. 

I’ve had a lot of dumba**es order them in some ignorant attempt to prove that they’re “tough” somehow, but those orders are significantly less common than those from people who actually LIKE this food.

One day, I had a table full of six of those spice-lovers. I took their orders, they signed their waivers, and I came back in a mask to make sure I didn’t inhale any of the fumes. The spice-lovers all thanked me for the meal, and I continued about my shift. 

A few minutes later, a patron at a separate table, close to those six spice-lovers, flagged me down.

Patron: “Is this some kind of joke?”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Patron: “You are ripping off those guys right there. You made them sign your bulls*** waiver for the [Hellfire] wings, and they’re not burning at all!”

The spice-lovers have overheard this.

Spice-Lover #1: “Hey, leave her alone! These are exactly what we ordered.”

Patron: “The h*** it is! They can’t be spicy in the slightest! Your nose isn’t even running!”

Spice-Lover #2: “Don’t you act like that! We LIKE spicy food; we know how to handle this kind of stuff! I promise you these are exactly as spicy as advertised!”

Patron: “Bulls***!” *To me.* “I demand that you bring out a proper plate of [Hellfire] wings.”

Me: “If you’re the one ordering it, YOU have to sign the waiver.”

[Patron] agrees. I leave to get the waiver and find him still arguing with the spice-lovers. After he signs it (in between snippy remarks), I’m about to head back when this happens:

Spice-Lover #3: “Hey, don’t you waste the food. He signed it?” *To [Patron].* “Here, a**hole, I’ve got a wing left. You take a bite of this and tell me it’s not what the menu promises.”

One (unnecessarily large) bite later, [Patron] is ordering enough milk to drown in. He did not tip. The spice-lovers more than made up for it.