It was a busy Saturday lunch, and I am hustling. When I say busy I mean BUSY. So many people you wonder why they come, is the food so good that all these idiots come at once?
Maybe it is, but come on now.
Anyhow, I have a table with 6 blonde rosy cheeked mid westerner women, young and old. A grand mother, two middle aged sisters, and four kids age range from 15 to 20. I don’t know why they disgust me so much but they do. Maybe because deep down they don’t want to be at Katz’s and I sense it. Their fear turns to slight hostility, and I pick up on it and get nasty.
They order a ton of food, sandwiches, platters, omelets, soups, and fries. The kids start to order fries, they each order a plate of fries for themselves, and we give big orders of fries, so I say they should get two orders and share them. For their own good.
I never do this in a nice way, I always tell them what to do like a demented fascist waiter. Always thinking it’s funny, and usually everyone else does too. Actually usually some do and some hate it. Then we, as a group gang up on the person who doesn’t have time for my evil bullshit.
In this group it is the oldest child, a young blonde woman wearing an awful St. Patrick’s Day outfit. Easily my least favorite holiday. She wears a bright green jacket, has a bright green scarf on that she doesn’t take off in the crowded hot restaurant. She’s got those horrible cheap plastic beads, and sunglasses, and a ridiculous berét. It’s way too much. She looks at me with a horrible spoiled face.
“I want my own fries” She demands.
“Too bad for you, you’re sharing with them”, I counter.
She gets upset.
“No, I want my own fries.”, She repeats.
“Too bad” I say.
“You can’t always get what you want”, I repeat, super mean.
‘’Just get me my own fries’”, She orders.
“No”, I say. I am filled with glee knowing that this girl will not be getting her own fries. I go get the fries for the table and refuse her.
“I want my own fries!”, She whines.
“You’ve got to get it together”, I tell her, I’m trying to give this kid some life lessons.
“Sharing is good, didn’t anyone teach you how to share?”
“We walked here from Washington Square Park, we’re tired!”, One of the ladies tells me, trying to explain the girls behavior.
“Big deal”, I say. “What do you want? a medal?”
The family is patient, most of them think it’s funny, I think. Maybe I’m just not paying enough attention to them. I don’t know.
I continue:
“Did you ever see Charlie and the Chocolate factory?”, I ask.
“Huh?”, she is bewildered.
“You remind me of the girl who says I want an oompa lumpa NOW, daddy”
Something is wrong with me. I always want to push it to the edge and then pull it back, this time I went too far.
I look at her mother. Who is not amused.
“Enough”, She says, “Will you please get her her own fries?”
The girl is crying.
“Are you crying?”, I panic a little.
“Why are you crying? You can’t cry over french fries!”, I say, but clearly she can.
Jake, the young owner from Katz’s is approaching, he is greeting and schmoozing with the tables. I need to get this girl her fries before he gets here, I do.
I get her the fries, and apologize profusely, this was not how i wanted it to go. Anyway I check in with them a bunch more, and it evens out. When I approach the table again I apologize once more.
“I’m sorry, I was only playing.”
After eating she is much saner.
“I’m sorry, a 20 year old shouldn’t cry in a restaurant over french fries.” She confesses, sad, but happy to resolve the conflict.
“No, you shouldn’t. But a 38 year old waiter should just get you the fucking fries.”
