The Truth Was Out There, Now It’s Sat At Table Five…
I’m convinced I just had customers from another planet.
Two adults (seemingly human) in their early thirties and their five-ish-year-old daughter come into the brewery. I was bartending, but I also had a dining section beside the bar.
They start out pleasant enough, if not a bit socially awkward. Let me know they were in a hurry to catch a movie, pretty basic, easy table. Almost immediately after dropping off their first drinks, I’m back behind the bar in the service well, and someone starts tapping my leg. I whip around, and it’s the little girl.
Me: “Hey. You can’t be back here. What do you need?”
Daughter: “My mommy and daddy need you.”
I head over.
Dad: “I need another iced tea refill.”
This happened three more times over twenty minutes of just sending their kid up to get more refills, before I just dropped a pitcher, which I also had to refill over the course of maybe an hour.
At some point during all of this, they’ve now decided they want everything boxed up. No problem, I let the kitchen know.
Then the meal comes out, and the kid comes back up to tell me that her mommy needs me once again.
Mom: “My meal is wrong.”
She ordered the chicken sandwich. I stare at the chicken sandwich in front of her. She’s opened the box and hasn’t taken a single bite, so I reassure her:
Me: “That’s the chicken sandwich that you ordered.”
She stares at it, stares at me, stares back at the sandwich, and says:
Mom: “Why does this sandwich have bread?”
I did not have an answer, of course, because it’s a SANDWICH, so at this point I just ask:
Me: “Would you like to see the menu and order something else?”
Mom: “I’ll get a BLT.”
Me: “Just to let you know that the BLT is also a sandwich. Would you like that without the bread?”
Mom: “No, I want the bread, just no bacon.”
The ‘correct’ food finally makes it to the table, all boxed up. I go to print the bill, they pay and tip, they seem happy, all is good.
The dad asks for one more refill while they stay and eat all of their take-out dining in, and then proceeds to clean their own table without my noticing (the busser filled me in), never to be seen again.
