Well Done Fillet

Well Done Fillet

Waiter Stuff

More Wiseguy trouble......

Sometimes they get to me before they even arrive.
Sometimes they send me on a downwards spiral before the doors are even open.
A downwards spiral of swearing, shouting, and chain smoking.

It's not easy done, but not impossible.

Sometimes I think I'm too tightly wound, but mostly I know it's everybody else's fault.
table for.....?

I had just started at work and was gleefully setting up the coffee machine, some things take priority, when the phone rang...

"Good morning this is The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, Manuel speaking. How can I help you?" I had my cheery morning voice on. My cheery morning voice can melt the hearts of even the darkest souls. Honest, I'm quite pleasant on the phone.

"What?" Said the gruff sounding caller. I wasn't sure which part of my "hello" he didn't understand so I just repeated it.

"Aye can I book a table for Saturday?"

"Certainly sir. How many for and what time suits you best?"

"Wha?"

"How many for and what time?" I asked, again, still cheery, a little confused but still cheery.

"Seven." Said Mr Chatty

"Seven o'clock or seven people sir?"

"What?" It was as if I had asked him the size of his pee pee such was his annoyance. Jesus H this guy was starting to rattle me a bit.

"Seven people." he snapped.

"What time, sir?" I snapped back. Fuck this, two can play at Mr Pricky phone call. I'm actually very good at being a prick on the phone.

"Eight or nine."

"Which sir, eight or nine?"

"For fuck sake I just wanna book a table for dinner." Oh, did he just swear at me? I think he did! Game over! Goodbye Mr Cheery, hello Mr Snappy Waiterman.

"Okay, and I just wanna take your booking. So if you can pick a time I can book it for you."

"What?"

"What.....time.......sir?"

"Eight o'clock."

"A table for 7 at eight o'clock then sir, brilliant. Now I just need your name and phone number." I said as the sarcasm dripped down the phone.

" Paddy."

"Paddy, sir?"

"Paddy"

"And your phone number Mr Paddy?" I added the mister just for the fun of it as I knew it would annoy him. Little victories people, little victories.

"Why do you need my phone number?"

AAAAARRRRRRRRGHHHH! You have to be fucking kidding me? I hadn't considered the guy to be dodgy until now. But I am assuming he is one of Belfast's many many "Wiseguys." Dripping in gold, sporting Timberland boots, stripy jumper, 3 year old BMW and ugly child eating dog. And this clearly goes some way to explain his reluctance to give me any information. Clearly he was skilled in counter intelligence and and anti-interrogation techniques.

"Sir I need your phone number to secure the booking. No phone number, no booking." I was pacing now.

I could hear him shuffling about, no doubt deciding which of his many phone numbers he could safely give out. I got his number and said, "Okay that's just great Mr Paddy, we look forward to seeing you and your guests on Saturday night." That was sarcasm at it's best.

He replied with, "What?"

I just hung up, obviously......