Friday, May 18, 2007


As waiters go, he is really quite terrible, yet, strangely, no one seems to notice this but me. Arriving at the venue, the POGs fall over themselves to greet him.
"Oh X! How are you!" they gush.
He responds with a studied expression of undiluted hatred.

"I don’t believe it!"
A portly grande dame whispered in a reverent tone, "X remembered us from thirty years ago!"
What I found more remarkable was that she remembered a waiter from thirty years ago. When dining out, I can’t even remember the waiter who may have served me thirty minutes ago.
"I said to him, 'X, I bet you don't remember us!' And he said, 'Oh yes, didn't your hair used to be longer?'"
"How astonishing," I said, genuinely amazed, for indeed it was astonishing that she would fall for such an obvious lie. Given that women invariably go for shorter styles as they get older, it was a safe assumption for X to make.
I couldn’t help but wonder why he was still a waiter after thirty years. It must take a lot of effort to be that consistently ordinary.

X swept past with a vicious scowl and a platter of canapés, too quickly for anyone to actually get any, then disappeared back into the kitchen.

At another event, X and I had enjoyed a heated discussion, with vigorous use of extremely vulgar language. I had thoughtfully pointed out that as he was quite drunk (having enjoyed vast amounts of the host’s alcohol), the least he could do was the job the host was paying him to do. Anyway, lots of shouting of rude words ensued, and his name became indelibly writ in my imaginary Book of Hate forever.

I saw him at a Ponsonby café, earlier this week, drinking coffee. I sat, a mere metre from him, studying his face. I recognise alcohol bloat when I see it; the spongy fatness of the habitual drinker. His eyes swept past me, with no glimmer of recognition. Perhaps he has no idea how awful he is. Perhaps he was really good at his job, once, and that is what everyone recalls, because he is tragic, now.

I concocted a delightfully flagitious plan. How hard it is to obtain Rohypnol? He needs to be taught a rather harsh lesson in manners.


Anonymous said...

Your self indulgent fantasies of rohypnol abuse foisted on the suurogate 'you' of waiter X. Imean, you are a nasty old piece of work too.

Mrs Smith said...

Tsk, tsk, dear Anonymous. If I were to have a 'surrogate' self, it sure as hell wouldn't be a smelly old waiter.

Anonymous said...

nice come back smith. back to blakes seven reruns.