There's a man who comes in for lunch every so often, who really gets to me.
His wife will drop him off around noon, settle him at a table with a view of the dining room, then rush out the door while assuring us, "I'll be back. "
In her wake, we store his walker so it's out of his way, then bring him his extra hot coffee and a lunch menu.
None of us are sure how old he is, but it hardly matters. His speech is slurred, barely comprehensible. He repeats his order three times before I finally understand what he wants.
"Crab cakes."
He points at the listing on the menu. I feel foolish, even stupid, for not understanding; he doesn't seem to mind. When his lunch comes out, he decides he wants to sit in the other chair at the table; the move takes 10 minutes. The foodrunner brings his lunch back to the kitchen to be reheated.
The gentleman doesn't seem to mind, almost as if he's used to all this fuss by now. He eats his once-again-hot lunch and drinks his coffee.
Around 1:30 one of our managers offers him a newspaper, and he gladly requests the New York Times. By 2:30 he's done with it; I drop the check on the table.
At about 3:15, his wife shows up with a credit card to pay the bill. She signs the itemized check before I can remind her I need to run the credit card, a rather frequent occurrence in a hotel restaurant. In the time it takes to run the credit card and return with the check to the table, his wife is gone again, who knows where. Not that it matters.
It's 3:45 or so when I check on him with a manager. He's signed the check; his wife still hasn't come back.
He's been looking at his watch for two hours now.
We close the check in the back and I gather glassware to reset the tables. When I go back onto the floor I see his table is empty, nearly four hours after he was seated.
I wonder what kind of person would leave their spouse alone in a restaurant for four hours. He's such a sweet man, yet his wife has no compunctions whatsoever about taking off without him.
It enfuriates me.
I hope, if I ever marry, that in my old age my husband doesn't take me out to lunch -- and leave me there.
His wife will drop him off around noon, settle him at a table with a view of the dining room, then rush out the door while assuring us, "I'll be back. "
In her wake, we store his walker so it's out of his way, then bring him his extra hot coffee and a lunch menu.
None of us are sure how old he is, but it hardly matters. His speech is slurred, barely comprehensible. He repeats his order three times before I finally understand what he wants.
"Crab cakes."
He points at the listing on the menu. I feel foolish, even stupid, for not understanding; he doesn't seem to mind. When his lunch comes out, he decides he wants to sit in the other chair at the table; the move takes 10 minutes. The foodrunner brings his lunch back to the kitchen to be reheated.
The gentleman doesn't seem to mind, almost as if he's used to all this fuss by now. He eats his once-again-hot lunch and drinks his coffee.
Around 1:30 one of our managers offers him a newspaper, and he gladly requests the New York Times. By 2:30 he's done with it; I drop the check on the table.
At about 3:15, his wife shows up with a credit card to pay the bill. She signs the itemized check before I can remind her I need to run the credit card, a rather frequent occurrence in a hotel restaurant. In the time it takes to run the credit card and return with the check to the table, his wife is gone again, who knows where. Not that it matters.
It's 3:45 or so when I check on him with a manager. He's signed the check; his wife still hasn't come back.
He's been looking at his watch for two hours now.
We close the check in the back and I gather glassware to reset the tables. When I go back onto the floor I see his table is empty, nearly four hours after he was seated.
I wonder what kind of person would leave their spouse alone in a restaurant for four hours. He's such a sweet man, yet his wife has no compunctions whatsoever about taking off without him.
It enfuriates me.
I hope, if I ever marry, that in my old age my husband doesn't take me out to lunch -- and leave me there.
posted by Akashabreeze | 10:48 AM
1 Comments:
Ok, QT, it's exactly one month since your last entry. Let's get cracking here. ;-)
Mariusbert
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