Imagine this conversation featuring a thick Russian accent.
ME: Hi folks, how are--
CHIEF JERK OFF: What do you have to drink? Let me see wine list!
Gee. Thanks, host, for failing, for the one millionth time to bring this standard item to a table.
I bring the wine list and cocktail/bar list. I list off some of my favorites.
JERK OFF #2: (to quiet wife) What you want?
QUIET WIFE: mumble askldjfovv mumble
| Clearly Russian drink of choice. |
ME: You'd like Grey Goose?
CHIEF JERK OFF: No! I'll have Stolichivakinoffvivana!
ME: I'm sorry? We have Stoli...?
CHIEF JERK OFF: YES! THAT IS WHAT I SAID!
ME: Oh, sorry... Stolichnaya. Sorry. I don't hear it by its full name often.
JERK OFF #2: Do you have Ketel 1?
ME: Yes, absolutely. So... One Stoli, one Ketel 1, one Grey Goose... on the rocks?
CHIEF JERK OFF: NO! No Grey Goose! We are Russian. We don't drink Grey Goose!
ME: Of course, I understand. So the lady will be having....
CJO: STOLI!
ME: OK. So. Three vodka on the rocks, two Stoli, one Ketel 1? (so vodka from the Netherlands is OK but from France is bad?)
Silence.
Whatever. So I bring them.
CJO: Is this just vodka or is this vodka red bull?
ME: I'm sorry? I never heard red bull. This is just vodka on the rocks.
JO #2: (to quiet wife) Didn't you order vodka red bull?
She nods.
ME: I'm sorry, we don't have red bull.
CJO: No red bull?
ME: Or any other energy drink. Would you like soda or tonic or Coke or maybe cranberry juice?
What follows is a very painful discussion that results in me bringing three glasses of cranberry juice and larger glasses to mix them together.
The food order is nearly as difficult. The wife seems intent on ordering the most expensive item possible, but I try to talk her out of it because she doesn't seem to understand what she'd be getting. She asks me to compare Chicken Marsala versus the Veal Porterhouse which she wants to get "contadina" style...which means adding sausage and potatoes and peppers. On top of a 16 oz. veal slab. Yuck. The Jerk Offs are getting MUCH lighter meals. She doesn't share. Or eat much of it. But they say it's all fine.
They drink more. Some expensive Chianti and Long Islands with double shots. Wow.
Now for my favorite parts...
CHIEF JERK OFF: Tell me. Why can't you smoke out here?
ME: It's California law. Sorry.
CHIEF JERK OFF: No it's not. I own two restaurants. No. It's not.
ME: Well, you can if it's an open air patio. But this one is enclosed. It has a ceiling. It's just non-smoking. If you want to smoke you can step outside.
I get waved away dismissively.
We close at ten, but we still have lots of tables eating at 11:15 PM.
ME: Sorry folks, but my bartender is asking for last call.
CHIEF JERK OFF: Is it 1:30 already?
ME: No. We closed over an hour ago. It's time for him to go home. It's last call for us.
(I receive a derisive snort.)
JERK OFF #2: We'll be fine.
The shocking part is that they actually tipped OK. I guess he really did own two restaurants.
P.S.> In a year, there won't be smoking allowed on outdoor patios in Los Angeles either. SO EAT THAT!
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