So I’m serving a sixty-something year in a tweed jacket. That should be punchline enough for you people.

But, no, that’s not the end of it. He talks as if he’s an extra out of a Monty Python skit and has a nose and disposition that even Winston Churchill would call “too British”.

Him: “Excuse me, sir. Why did you just carry out my beverage with your hands?”
Me: “Umm…I don’t quite know how to answer that, sir.”
Him: “Of course you don’t, my boy. Why didn’t you carry it out on a tray?”
Me: (In my best Sherlock Holmes) “I didn’t see the need, sir. It would be a waste of a good tray, old chap, if I were to use a whole blasted tray for one drink.”
Him: (Visibly angry)
Me: “Plus, with the way everything is just buggers in this tavern t’night, I thought I’d let me friends take the trays for all those plates of fish and chips hot off the steamer for the rest of the patrons. If you don’t mind, I’ve yet served a few of me customers and blimey they’re angry little bastards if I was worth half a shilling. I’ll be right back for your order of food in two shakes of a frog’s leg.”

It helps to have taken acting and improv classes in high school when you’re a waiter. At least to keep yourself sane.

This entry was posted on Monday, July 23rd, 2007 at 10:29 and is filed under Guys, 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.