So it's been a while because I've been too busy with real life to care much about work, or writing about work, but I need a break from reality for the next ten minutes or so.
When you're dining out, at, say, my table, it's one thing to receive psychic service. For instance, yesterday a guest ordered a fried shrimp meal and was astonished that my next question wasn't, "Which side would you like with that?" but rather, "With fries?" because that was exactly what he wanted. He was outright amazed that I knew he wanted a Caesar salad, and wowed even more by the fact that earlier, I had pegged him as a cola dude.
It's an entirely different thing to expect psychic service. Do you go to the post office and stare blankly at the postman until he forks over some stamps or an envelope or reaches across the counter to snatch the package you want delivered out of your hands and send it to an address you haven't yet given him? Do you go to the electronic entertainment store and silently gape at the sales associate until she divines that you walked in hoping to find a copy of Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman season one? If you answered, "Yes," to either of those questions, you're an intensely screwed up individual and it's probable that you rarely get what you want. Most people would answer, "No, of course I don't do that."
Then why, prithee, why, would you go a restaurant expecting that kind of magic. Yes, I'm sometimes able to judge a book by its drink order or attitude, but 1. contrary to popular opinion, I'm not always right, and 2. psychic waiter vibes are like good songs on the radio: sometimes they're right there when you flip the channel, and sometimes you need to sit through some routine ditties until they play your jam. So get with the program, folks.
Yesterday I decided to play a game. I compared what these ridiculous restaurant-goers probably wanted from me with how the conversation would normally have gone. You can play along! The first one's easy...
"Hi, I'm Calvin! How are you?"
"Uh, diet coke." (Didn't have to wait too long for that one.)
"Excellent choice there, sir." Not so excellent listening skills there, sir.
Note that any normal person, when asked how they are, would probably respond with a qualifying adjective, a description, maybe even a reciprocation of the inquiry. Imagine this exchange happening in the park while you're out for a walk. You say, "Hi, how are you?" to a stranger, and they reply, "Diet coke." Also note that the utter insanity of that scenario does not preclude, in this strange world, the possibility of it occurring. But it really shouldn't happen anywhere.
Let's try another one.
"Your meal comes with a side and a salad. What kind of side would you like with your meal?"
"Yes."
Language barrier? Nope. And this was a different guest from the previous example.
"We have your choice of mashed or baked potato, fries, vegetable, or rice."
"Okay."
"So you'd like fries, then?"
"Caesar salad." Whoa, skipping ahead there, buddy. I'm not up to salad yet. I'm still trying to get your side out of your mind, or at least your foot out of your mouth, because there is an issue at hand that we have not yet addressed and you're talkin' nonsense, partner!
"Okay, Caesar salad, but are the fries okay?"
"Sure." Score one for Calvin!
And.... my favorite.
"Hi, my name is Calvin and I'll be your server today. What brings you in on this fine afternoon?"
"..." Not even looking up.
"If you like I can get you started with something to drink and an appetizer."
"..."
"We have cola, diet, orange soda, lemonade... we also have some great drinks at the bar..."
"..." Hasn't even opened the menu.
"Do you need a few minutes to decide?"
Oh. Ohhhh. You're texting under the table, which I couldn't see from the other side of the table. So you're not just pointedly ignoring me, you're also being rude. A considerate person would have asked me for some more time from the get-go, to relieve me of the embarrassment, wasted time, and frustration of having talked at a wall for the past two-and-a-half minutes.
"I'll be right back." I began walking away.
"Hold up, man." I should have kept walking, but I didn't. "I want a pop." Oh, I'll give you a pop.
"What kind would you like?"
"Uh... what do you have?" Oh, you mean you didn't already know? Hmm. Backhand, knuckles, thrown brick...
"Cola, diet, ora--"
"Gimme a diet."
"I'll be right back with that," jerk, "sir."
Well, it's been fun communicating with you, readers, but alas, I must get to work again.
Next time, we converse with a tractor!
