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Wielding the Manners Sceptre
I do
hope everyone has watched "The Princess Bride" enough to recognise a
slightly edited quote when I say, "Manners. Manners is what bwings us
togevah today. Manners. That bwessed event. That dweam
within a dweam..." If you haven't seen it to understand, then maybe you
should consider renting something without "Part 2" in the title.
I'm
actually on a rant about manners and not about movies, by the way.
Several weeks ago I had a party of 14 come into the restaurant. This
group was a gaggle of pre-teens on a class field trip for a "Family Living"
type of class, the subject being "Manners in Public". I saw the group
and groaned thinking I'd be wasting my time and open tables for a few
pennies on the dollar whilst running my tushy off to refill their sodas
(which were on the house, by the way). However, the teachers explained
to me that the young'uns were being graded and that I was to let them know
who passed and who failed. They may as well have made me El Presidente
with that kind of power. I mean, imagine, finally, the opportunity to
judge a guest. How many times have I been judged by evidence in the
tips I received? Too bloody much is the answer. Now, however,
NOW the power was in my hands and I planned on cleaving like it were an axe
if any of the mealy mouthed prepubescents stepped out of line. Drop a
fork and FEEL MY WRATH! Jinkies. That was uncalled for.
There
were three tables of them all together. The teachers asked that we
keep the tables separate so as to give the kids the feel of a real dining
experience. It was no worries for me, as I liked that idea myself.
I had scanned over the lot and decided I only saw three maybe four who would
have 14 friends to dine with in the future anyway.
Table
one. There sat four girls, hands in lap and a pleasant smile, their
menus already closed in front of them. When I introduced myself, one
even said, "Nice to meet you." Hmm… I like her moxy. Maybe she's a bit
ass-kissy but not too over the top ass-kissy. It wasn't like she went
out of her way to extend a hand or curtsy or anything. All four were
ready to order, did so with no trouble and I could have sat down and had a
tea party with them they were such "ladies". If I had daughters, I'd
wish they behaved as such in public and not like some of the
foot-balanced-on-the-table, playing-with-their-gum-out-of-the-mouth girlys
I'd waited on in the past. I give these four an A+!
Table
two. Four fellas this time. I glanced them over a bit and
wondered if this would go as smoothly. They were whispering a bit, but
hushed it when I drew out my pad of paper and pen. One had blue hair
and a few piercings in his face, his commrades appeared to be his back ups
for his garage band. My kind of folk, true, but not when I'm wielding
the Manners Sceptre. They appeared to be just the type to unscrew the
salt shakers and tee-hee over the pillar of salt left in their wake.
Surprisingly they gave their order, one even adding "If you have time, could
I get a side of bleu cheese dressing with that, please?" Wow. "If I
have time…" The tears almost rose, and right then and there I could have
kissed that boy if it weren't illegal everywhere but
Kentucky. Oh, and
Alabama. Can't forget 'bama while I'm slandering, can I? So what
do I grade this table? A fat A+ and the hopes the one marries my
little sister some day despite the age difference.
Table
three. Six, count them, SIX boys at this one. Evidently there's
a war coming in a few years if you look at the boy/girl ratio. It may
be an old wive's tale, but I believe strongly in old wives. They know
their shit.
Anyway, as I was saying, six boys. By now I was "off my guard".
I was smiling and ready to have table three impress me with their brown
nosing and proper etiquette. Guest one through five proved me right
and I was beginning to think I should write to the mayor about what
upstanding young men and women this city bred. Then guest six, the
final guest, opened his yapper and I made a mental note to have my tubes
tied. He was small for his age, dressed as if he wanted to fit in, yet
the crude rap star wannabe medallion around his neck assured me he wasn't.
Here's an excerpt from our conversation that I have pulled from my recessed
memory banks via hypnosis and a lot of Killian's:
Me: And you, Sir,
what can I get you today?
Devil
Child: I don't like
anything on the menu.
Me: Have you ever
tried our House Sirloin? It comes with a side of vegetables a slice of
garlic bread and some seasoned country potatoes.
Devil
Child: (blank stare)
Me: We also have a
chicken fingers basket with fries if that would suit you.
Devil
Child: I want that
first thing you said, that whatever thing... but I can't have my food touch.
Me: (blinking) You
can't have your food...touch?
Devil
Child: Yeah.
Me: So...then...
would you like separate plates for each item?
Devil
Child: If I get it on
the same plate, that's gross. I'll puke.
Me: (clenched jaw
and considering pummeling his mother) I'll make sure the kitchen uses
separate plates. How do you like your steaks prepared?
Devil
Child: (blank stare)
Me: Medium Well it
is then, Sonny Jim. (pivot, curse under breath to the kitchen)
It
didn't end there either. Mr. Picky-pants decided his soda tasted flat.
After changing his soda twice, he opted for an Oreo milkshake that tasted
"weird" to him. What was he? Pregnant? He decided he
wanted a house salad, but no dressing and after subtracting other key items
from said salad, I pointed out he now would have an empty bowl with two
tomato wedges for $1.99 more. Care to know how he got my attention?
He knelt on the back of the booth and shouted, "Hey… Hey… Hey" which is
easier to ignore only before five "heys". It's like a "hey" quota with
me, I guess. This little dickens also needed more straws than one
human mouth should be allowed in a lifetime. What he did with them
all, I have no fuzzy clue. What I'm hoping he did with them, was shove
them up each nostril sideways.
When
the field trip had ended and the teachers were ready to round up the troops
for their exit, one pulled me aside and asked if I had any trouble at all
from table two. She said this in whispers with a quick glance in the
garage bands' direction. I looked toward her glance and quite loudly
assured her that they were not only courteous, but fun. I enjoyed
waiting on them and would love to do it again sometime. This surprised
and pleased her and she began to walk away, but I took her by the elbow
gently. "Ma'am," says I, "You don't want to know about the others?"
She slipped on her coat and answered, "The others never give us any
problems." "I imagine not," I replied looking at that scrawny puker of a
pimply faced terror, "but keep your eye on that little one. He may
just be getting warmed up for his high school years."
Manners Sceptre wielded.
I
ended up making almost $30 off that party, so I suppose it was worth it.
I'm just glad a few teachers find it important enough to teach manners.
It all seems so 1950's, but what was wrong with the '50's? The girls
knew their "please" and "thank-you's" and the boys helped them on with their
coats and pulled out their chairs and actually ate food that touched.
To say "hey" to a woman older than you, aside from Mrs. Robinson, was
punishable by clapping erasers after school.
Hmm…
maybe in a previous life I waited tables at a Soda Fountain for nickles. |
