Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

I'm not sure if you were wondering where I have been (probably not), but the answer is Melbourne.

Specifically, I've been down for a weekend of hanging out with friends followed by a several work-related seminars. I did all of this sans Mr Fix and Grizzlewick, which was nice/weird.

There seems to be a lot of talk on the internerds lately about bad service. So perhaps there was some kind of karma going on this weekend.

I had a last-minute brunch with Mr Fix's family, who happened to be assembling in the city on Sunday morning. I decided to tag along, because I hadn't seen them in a while, and it seemed like a nice thing to do.

So we wandered around Degraves Street for a while, decided it was too busy and then settled on a cafe a short distance away. Do not let this fool you - said cafe was still quite the trend-ness.

I sat down with Mr Fix's mum and her partner, while we waited for the rest of the family to arrive. We ordered coffee, and I became slightly obsessed with the specials board. When the rest of the family arrived we ordered brunch. By this stage I was starving, having caught the train for a three-hour trip and skipping breakfast to make it in time.

I ordered an intriguing 'cinnamon toast with poached pineapple and maple syrup'. I'm only half-a-fan of maple syrup, so I asked for it to be served on the side, so I could be my usual control-freak self. The rest of the fam ordered omelettes, bacon and eggs, and the like.

About thirty minutes later, our food had still not arrived. We started to joke amongst ourselves about what the hold up was, with everyone blaming the cinnamon toast.

Two minutes later, everyone's food arrived. That is, everyone's but mine.

Five minutes later, the waitron brought out my meal and, within inches of placing it before me, said "oh, you wanted to the maple syrup on the side" and whisked the plate back inside before I could say "well, yes, but I'm so hungry now I don't really care".

Another ten minutes elapse.

My plate reappears with the pineapple and maple syrup in a bowl next to a piece of pleasingly soft toast, dusted with cinnamon. Ace. Or would have been, if anyone had given me cutlery.

Finally we hailed a waitron to get me a knife and fork. He leaned over "conspiratorially" and said:

"It's that girl's first day, so....."

This is restaurant code for: don't complain.

I can live with that. I've had first days too, and it's never pleasant when you don't know where everything is. I did notice the second waitron tell her off in a stage-whisper, which I thought was possibly slightly unnecessary, and not particularly in the spirit of his "let's all come bathe ourselves in love while we support our faltering young foal"-style aside earlier in the piece.

About ten minutes later, we were in full flight of breakfast and I was in the middle of telling the story of my latest WDTAOK post, when second waitron returns and stands tapping his foot for a couple of seconds before leaning across me and saying:

"Look, I hate to interrupt your cutesy story, but does anyone here want any more coffee?"

Now I'm not sure about you, but I would have thought being a waitron would teach the following skillz:

1. At your peril do you interrupt a parent from telling a story to an adoring grandparent

2. At no time should you use the word "cutesy" to a customer

3. I'm a performer*, goddammit, and when I'm in full flight with hand gesticulations and florid language is not the time to ask if we want more coffee.

The table suffered a slight frisson at this moment, followed by an explosion of outrage once he moved beyond earshot.

I was prepared to overlook the bumbling, the incorrect order, the lack of cutlery.

But that dude = so rude.

To paraphrase Rebecca Barnard, "I wouldn't talk to Gigglewick like that if I were you".


NO TIP FOR YOU.


This post is dedicated to my sister Doc, who I am missing a lot, and who never fails to tell me all about the good/bad/horrid food she consumes.


* Not really. I mean, it's not on my passport or anything.