Darth Vader Style

There's something special about Sundays.

Today I worked from 10:00-4:00 at a restaurant where I love the food and the staff, but sometimes grow weary of fielding such questions as, "If I pay with cash, can I get change back?" and "What kind of dressing comes on your Caesar Salad?"

The answers to these questions, by the way, are:

1) No. Any cash that hits that table is subsequently lost to you forever. In fact, if you handed me a credit card, you wouldn't get that back either.

2) Orange Chipotle.

Seriously though, questions like that often catch me so off guard that I begin to question reality and everything I know. My actual answers to these questions were:

1) "Yes. Of course. Wait... what?"

2) "... um... I... Caesar dressing?"

One of the things I'm best known for among my coworkers is my uncanny ability to tell tableside jokes that fail spectacularly.

Exhibit A:

Guest: I'll have a Black Russian. On the dark side, please.

Me: (Returning with drink.) Here's your Black Russian, sir. (Winking.) Darth Vader style.

Guest: (Winces, then looks down at placemat.)


Exhibit B:

Me: (Reading back order to table.) Okay, I'll be right back with an Absolut Cosmo, a glass of Malbec, a ginger ale and a Beefeater Martini up with olives.

Guest 1: And don't forget my side of ice.

Me: Oh, don't worry sir, I wouldn't dream of it.

(Pause.)

Me: Well, I might dream of it, but I would wake up screaming.

(Guest 2, Guest 3 and Guest 4 look startled. Guest 1 slides an inch away in his seat.)


This all relates to a theory I've developed: The only way to be sure you're really living is to embarrass yourself at least once a day.