Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Putting Your (My) Foot In It

I'm at a swanky restaurant and I'm feeling a bit uncomfortable because...well, I'm ridiculously under dressed for one (I'm wearing under the knee cut off terrorist pants and flipflops), and for another, I'm dining alone.

At tables on my left there's a couple, and beside them, a couple, ad nauseum. What makes this set up even more deplorable is that my waitress has decided that at least as far as I am concerned, she will bring the full and utter meaning in the word WAITress upon me. I do a fair bit of ceiling staring, I stare into the fire, I review all the photos I've taken today, then this week, then go through each picture I have ever taken in my entire life. Even after this my neighbours - the happy couple - are on course two, rapidly moving to course three, while I remain stuck on course numero uno.

I decide on a brilliant scheme. I will sneak around the corner of the restaurant and visit an internet station. Not only will this allow me to give the waitress a jolly good up-yours-old-sport, and allow her to spend anxious minutes agonising on where I am (and will I ever come back) - and while she is practising her apology I can feed my internet addiction.

So now for a quick, discreet exit, followed by consternation and hopefully PANIC for my waitress. When I stand up my slip slop snags the heel of the table - which has four low splayed legs - and with a cheeky little kick I manage to wrench it free. I notice the table is tottering. Fortunately it totters back to where it was, the plates doing a brief hysterical shriek and clatter. In the echo I skulk around the corner, head almost disappearing between hunched shoulders.

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