A "Little" Word of Advice from Mr M

Hello, blogees.

As you know, a couple of weeks ago I took a trip up north to the wilds of Cleveland with Mr M to see the Air Show. It was fun.

However, we had one of those experiences that, while it bothers me, I seem to be able to let go of quickly. Mr M, not so much.

We'd arrived in Cleveland later than expected, then immediately headed out to visit Mr M's old clarinet teacher, so when we got back to the hotel it was pretty late. There were a row of restaurants near the hotel, so we took off and picked one at random for dinner. It was Outback.

Since it was so late we got seated immediately and our waiter came by to say hi. I mean that. He didn't tell us about any fishes or soups of the day, he just came by to introduce himself and let us know he was going to be at our disposal. He was Mr Friendly, and the introduction went on forever, and somewhere in it all I think he may have told us about his summer vacation, I don't know. I started to blur.

Now, I'm not all that big on overly friendly waiters, but as I said, I can let it go. The waiters probably aren't that big on it either, I'm sure it's forced upon them by these places advertising happy places to dine. But Mr M despises it, and he'd become pretty much a seething cauldron of hate by the time Mr Friendly had promised us a lovely dining experience, somewhere around line two of his spiel.

And so we both eventually ordered some chicken about the time Mr Friendly was telling us about the year he lost the training wheels on his bike, he coerced me into some mushrooms as a side order, he exulted about our great choices from the menu, I could see a little stream of gray smoke starting to seep from the top of Mr M's head, and at this point my opinion of Mr Friendly went from sympathizing with him to laughing at him.

We'd each ordered soft drinks as he told us about his first date, and when Mr Friendly arrived with them, he put them down in front of us and said, and I quote, "OK, now here's your little Coke, and here's your little Diet Coke." And Mr M began to laugh. Right in his face. I mean, anyone who's been in the company of Mr M for more than 30 or so seconds should know you don't give him a "little Coke."

But he didn't notice the laugh, I guess he just thought he was successful in bringing us the wonderful dining experience one expects from an Outback.

So as he came back to check on us we heard all about how good we were doing on our meals, and did we need any little drink refills, and he lost his virginity on West 44th street in 1998. Or something. And every time he left, Mr M said, "I'm going to tell him to shut the hell up," and I told him no he wasn't. Well, actually, I was more begging him not to.

We'd done about all we could do on the meal, and Mr Friendly came back by to tell us he was just sure we wanted some dessert, like some fabulous key lime pie, just like he had when his family took that trip to the alligator farm in Florida, but we declined. And for some reason, and really, I don't know why, I guess because I'm just so used to having so much left over, I asked him if I could have a container for the rest of my chicken. I really shouldn't have done that, you know.

A few minutes later Mr Friendly returned with two containers. Here is what he said. I'm not making this up, either. He said it, and I have a witness.

"Now here's a little container for your chicken, and here's a little container for your mushrooms. Now - [performing the tasks] - I'm just going to put your little chicken in here, and your little mushrooms in here, and we're going to put them both in this little bag, and we're going to hang it right here on this little peg till you're ready to go."

I honestly thought Mr M was going to faint. He asked for the little check.

And so the little check came and Mr M pulled out a credit card and stuck it in the (presumably little) leatherette folder, and Mr Friendly scooped it up. And returned a few minutes later.

Now...

Now, Mr Friendly at this point did something - well, I was shocked, and this was the point I stopped laughing and really started to dislike this guy intensely.

He brought the receipts and card back and told us how much he loved being our new friend, and he was having a tea on Sunday and hoped we could make it and meet his Mom, and he began all this by saying, "Mr M, it was certainly nice to meet you tonight...."

Only he didn't say "Mr M." He called Mr M by his first name.

Mr M has this thing about overfamiliarity in the wrong situations, and when he goes to a place where some staffperson or waiter or whoever calls him "buddy," he lights into them. So I knew if I was shocked someone would use the name on a credit card not to say, "Thank you, Mr M, " but, "Thank you, Mr M's first name," I figured Mr M would get up and poke Mr Friendly in the eye.

He didn't, but he was steamed. He picked up the restaurant's copy of the credit card receipt and started writing on it. At that point, I said, "Hey, I'm going outside." Because I'm a big fat chicken who hates confrontation. I excused myself, picked my little bag with my little food off the little peg, and left.

Mr M came out and I asked what happened. He nonchalantly said, "Nothing. I just wrote him a note. It said, 'A word of advice for the future. You're not going to make many friends if you insist on calling old farts like me by their first names.'"

You know, no one wants an incompetent waiter, one for whom everything's a chore. But we don't want Mr Friendly. All we want is a smile and someone to get us what we need when we need it. We don't want to be welcomed into the family, we don't want another person on our holiday card list, we don't want conversation unless we start it. Right? Don't we want that?

I didn't ask Mr M about the tip he left, but I assume it was, well, little.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* Acrowinners, we have - um, acrowinner? One lone brave soul took the challenge. So, what is the worst job in the world?
- And the winner is Marla (marlamarlamarla)! With her "Dividing nubs inside vegetables." And I'll bet that's minimum wage, too.
- Thanks for playing, Marla, you've done very well!