Tinker, Tailor, Waiter, Spy

(I am a US citizen. I don’t look like a native Argentine. I’m with a group of my friends. I have a face that is often mistaken for a worker wherever I am—even in the USA. I grab a menu so I can decipher it while we are waiting for a waiter. A customer grabs me by my lapels.)

Customer: *in Spanish* “We’ve been waiting for 40 minutes and no one has come. Why? We’re hungry and livid!”

Me: *thinking quickly* “I’m sorry, ma’am. We got a sudden lunch rush. Half of our wait staff called off because of sickness, and those who are here are working as hard as we can.”

Customer: “It’s not enough! You better take our order, NOW!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, you’re next on my list. I’ll take care of you right now. Let me go get my stuff; I’ll be right back.”

(She shoves me away, and into another table. I stand up, apologize, and rejoin my friends.)

Friend: *in English* “What was that all about?”

Me: “That lady has been waiting for a while and she’s angry about it.”

Friend: “So… she… thinks you’re a waiter?”

Me: “Yep, and she’s going to be waiting a while longer.”