The Designated Defender

(We have been seated at a restaurant and a waitress takes our orders. When she comes back with our drinks, she puts a soda water in front of me.)

Me: “I ordered a beer.”

Waitress: “But you’re the designated driver.”

Me: “No. None of us are. We’re taking a taxi.”

(It’s clear she doesn’t believe me, and she doesn’t come back over until our food is ready. I ask again, and she reiterates her point that I am the designated driver. I ask for the owner and we explain the situation.)

Owner: “If you are the designated driver, why would you order an alcoholic drink?”

Me: “That’s the thing. I’m not. We got a taxi over, and we’re taking one back. I haven’t even got my keys with me.”

Owner: *to the waitress* “Who told you he was their driver?”

Waitress: “I did.”

Owner: “Don’t you think that is an issue if you pick the wrong person?”

Waitress: *clueless* “No.”

(The owner apologises and offers a discount. We are seen by a more competent waitress and we don’t see our original waitress until we leave and are getting into our taxi. She runs out, dragging the owner.) 

Waitress: “YOU SEE! I TOLD YOU HE WAS…”

(She realised her fault and fled back into the restaurant. The owner facepalmed and apologised to us again. While I couldn’t really fault our new waitress or the owner — with perhaps the exception of hiring that waitress — we have not been back.)