I was training at a new restaurant. My trainer and I get sat a party of eight. Couples. Business guys taking the wives out for a night on the town. Cocktails flow. Appetizers disappear. Finally my trainer is making the rounds, taking orders. He’s already discussed the night’s specials in detail, already sold a couple of $40+ entrees. He gets to The Loud Guy. This guy has a few drinks in him and has decided to impress everyone with how awesome and knowledgeable he is. So of course he asks my trainer to repeat all the specials. He does. Dude starts drilling down to specific ingredients, even asking what kind of herbs are in the béarnaise sauce (it’s tarragon, moron, it’s a fucking béarnaise sauce).
Now, this is at 8 PM on a Friday night and we have 3 other tables of 4 already seated. I’m doing what I can, but my trainer is trapped at this eight-top. Loud Guy keeps asking stupid questions and wanting to chat.
Finally my trainer says, “Sir? I’m sorry, but I have other tables that need my attention. May I take your order?”
Loud guy freaks. How rude, blah blah blah.
My trainer looks at him and says, “I’m sorry sir, I didn’t realize I was here to entertain you.” And then he starts dancing. Like, John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever disco moves. He boogies around the whole table, says to me “Get this guy’s order!” and pelvic-thrusts his way back to the kitchen, leaving the eight-top speechless.
The guy ordered a steak. Medium well. Asshole.