thefbombmom

I have worked at an upscale casual restaurant for the last four years. I have been a server for almost 17 years. Yes; I have war stories. I like my job. I can put up with almost anybody for an hour. The fact that I cannot hear in my left ear definitely helps! Sometimes, all people want is for you to smile and nod anyway.
I like my job on several different levels. First of all, it is not hard work to me. Simplified, I take your order, bring you your food, fill your drinks, and clear your plates. Most people hate receiving bad service. I love it. I am also Jewish. Jew trumps waitress; I will still leave 20% if I receive mediocre(or bad) service but I will graciously over tip if service is sensational. I believe the definition of good service can also be debatable. My definition of sensational service? I never run out of beer and I do not hear my server’s life story. I strive to do the same; be efficient and shut the fuck up.
I also like the people I work for, most of the people I work with, and I have a several regular customers I truly enjoy. Especially the ones with the thick black American Express cards.
The thick black American Express bears no credit limit. Whenever I open a guest check and catch a glimpse of that heavy piece of plastic, I instantly recount every minute of my previous tableside manner and pray I was as nice as I think I was. And you know the saying ‘once you go black…’ Yeah, I never forget the face of a thick black American Express holder.
So one day two gentleman I immediately recognized as said cardholders sat in my section for the second or third time. They were pleasantly surprised when I remembered what they both wanted to eat and drink. Their order was prompt, their drinks kept full, and I said little. The older of the gentlemen usually pays; he is distinguished looking but does not bear much resemblance to Kevin Spacey nor is he bald which I prefer. The younger one will probably look just like him in 20 years. I cruise by the table to refill their ice in their Iced Tea and the older one smiles and says to me, “You’re so good to us! I could just take you home”.
My response? I laugh lightly and say, “I’d probably come”.
And then I stood there.
Are you fucking kidding me? THOSE are the words I chose?
To say I was embarrassed would be an understatement. My face immediately flushed as I struggled to recover from such an obvious blunder. And I realized I could not.