I once went to a mid-range restaurant as a patron and was seated next to a couple with a child no older than ten. It was a fairly normal situation all in all, until the waiter arrived at their table and started taking orders.
Mother: “Do you happen to make hamburgers and fries?”
Waiter: “Sorry, madam, what we offer is strictly written on the menu. We can’t make you hamburgers and fries.”
Mother: “But you serve ragout and meatballs, so you do have ground beef. Is it so hard to knead some together? And what about the potatoes? You clearly have those if you have puree as a side.”
Waiter: *Already on the defensive* “Madam, all the mincemeat we buy is all used for sauces or meatballs, and we don’t use the right kind of potatoes to fry.”
Mother: *Agitated* “What do you mean, you don’t have the right kind of potatoes? All potatoes are good for frying!”
Child: *Clearly desperate to eat* “Mom, it’s fine. I’ll just have the lamb spits and vegetable fry.”
Mother: “Shush. It’s not in your diet plan.”
Waiter: “Either way, no, we don’t have hamburgers and fries. Can I suggest—”
Mother: “No, it’s fine. He’ll just eat breadsticks tonight; it’s better for him.”
Father: *Lunging in front of the mother* “No, no, that won’t do. He’ll have the spits and the vegetable fry, thank you very much.”
The mother seemed she was trying to object, but the father silenced her with a hiss. As fed up about it as the child probably was, the waiter sighed, wrote the order down, and then left for the kitchen. The father then immediately turned to the mother, saying something I couldn’t hear while the child looked at me with an exasperated look.
I have no idea what possessed that lady to be so adamant in such a request after being told no and why, but I sure hope it was worth making an a** of herself in public.
