Her Complaints Fall Flat  

(I know this couple is going to be a handful from the moment they sit down… at a dirty table, not the one the host was leading them toward. They glare at me as I wipe it down and quickly get them silverware and menus, as if it’s my fault they were seated there.)

Me: *quickly goes through menu spiel and offers drinks*

Demanding Lady: “I want a [Soda]. And make sure it’s not flat! I hate flat sodas.”

Me: “Sure thing.” *returns quickly with sodas*

Demanding Lady: *without tasting even a sip of her drink, holds it up to the light and glares at it* “This [soda] is flat! I told you I hate flat drinks! Go get this fixed!”

Me: “I’m sorry about that, ma’am. I don’t know if we can adjust that here, but I’ll see what we can do.”

(I hurry away to find our manager, who tells me — as I knew — that the soda machine can’t be adjusted by us. The manager also tastes the soda and assures me that it’s fine. I also taste it and it’s not flat at all. I run a new glass with more ice in it and rush it out so it’s still fizzing when I put it on the table.)

Demanding Lady: *false sickly sweetness* “Well, lo and behold, you could do something about it. This is much better.”

Me: *still smiling* “I’m glad it’s good, ma’am.”