Last weekend, we had a party of older women and who I’m guessing were their grandchildren. They sat at one of those tables that seats anywhere from 8 to 10 people and the chef cooks in front of them.

When you get your meal cooked in front of you, the chef likes to talk to the customers. Joke, talk about where the customer is from, why they like their meat medium rare; stupid shit that gets a better tip for them and us.

A running joke among most of our chefs is to make the noise of the animal from where the meat came from (filet mignon: moo, chicken: cluck, etc…). When you get to the last person, you “meow” to imply that we’re serving you cat. Cute joke, huh?

Anyway, Kevin, one of our better chefs, does the joke every single night. People laugh every single night. Last weekend?

Kevin: (Passing out chicken) “Meow.”
Old Woman: “Excuse me?”
Kevin: “Oh, I’m just kidding around, you know?”
Old Woman: “There’s no kidding around with that.”

She then makes her way up to the bar and proceeds to bitch at our manager, April, about how that’s the “most inappropriate joke [she’d] heard in a long time.” So my friend (and co-worker) John cozy up next to the credit card machine and eavesdrop on the conversation.

Old Woman: “I’ve been in third-world countries and that’s a real reality.”
April: “Ma’am…this isn’t a third-world…”
Old Woman: “And I’m a cat enthusiast.”
April: “A cat enthusiast.”
Old Woman: “A cat enthusiast. And that joke…it just…just sickens me. I’m never coming back here again.”
April: “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Guess it didn’t sicken you enough. You stayed at the bar until 45 minutes after closing. A little hint, Mrs. Cat Enthusiast: our sake is really cat urine. We’re living in a third-world country after all.

This entry was posted on Friday, April 13th, 2007 at 11:50 and is filed under Management, Co-workers, Grandmas And Grandpas, Stuck Up Yuppies. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.