What A Diabeetus, Part 12
I’m working as a hostess at a popular chain restaurant on a busy Saturday night, where the wait is at least forty-five minutes for small parties. A woman is making a reservation for ten people and I put her party on the list, checking in every few minutes to see if there’s a table available.
She gets fed up after about thirty minutes and starts yelling at me.
Customer: “You’d better find a place for us to sit, because I’m a diabetica.”
That’s not a typo; she said, “die-a-beet-uh-ca.” I’m pretty sure she was just making it up so she could be seated faster.
I’m just assuming here, but if you had diabetes, wouldn’t you at least know how to pronounce it?
I got her some water and crackers anyway, but she was not a happy camper about the fact that she still had to wait like everyone else.
Related:
What A Diabeetus, Part 11
What A Diabeetus, Part 10
What A Diabeetus, Part 9
What A Diabeetus, Part 8
What A Diabeetus, Part 7






