Getting excited to get back to going to restaurants again, but not looking forward to the way some restaurant servers talk. Euphemistic phrases offered not to offend—and maybe in preventative self-defense against snooty customers who like their servers to arrive on tiptoes.
But as a fella who likes to relate to servers on the friendly eye-to-eye—I don’t like being talked to like the grouchiest old bastard in the rest home.
“Can I take your plate, or are you still working?”
“Can I take your plate, or are you still nibbling?”
“Did you save any room for dessert?” (Really, you’re asking me directly about the volume of half-chewed slop sloshing around in one of my internal organs?)
And—this is the newest one—no matter what dish I order—whether a 4-pound tomahawk long-bone ribeye, or the kale salad—the server shrieks, “Perfect!”
Or maybe I am the grouchiest old bastard in the rest home.
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