Party size: 2

Customer 1: Man in jeans, t-shirt and baseball hat. May or may not be married to customer 2, but definitely simulates reproduction with her regularly.

Customer 2: Woman who simulates reproduction with customer 1

Cheer: “Hi southerners who would never step foot in Carmel if they weren’t in town for Laguna Seca races.”
Southerners: “Hi. We’re completely boring and you probably won’t think much of us all night.”

Cheer: “I agree. So, now that we’re on the same page, let’s get this snooze party started and I’ll take your order.”

Southerners: “Okay. We’d like some food to start and some other food for our entrées.”

Cheer: “Great. I’ll just go to the kitchen now and pretty much forget you’re around until your food comes up.”

Southerners: “We’re cool with that. We won’t draw any attention either cause we don’t really like each other, so you won’t hear us talking and interrupting the Zen calm of the restaurant.”

Cheer: “Alright. You’re so boring I’m just going to skip to the end of your meal–the part of the story where you become interesting.”

Southerners: “Whatever.”

Cheer: (to man) “I see you’ve decided to display your lack of fine dining experience by placing your cloth napkin in a heap on your plate.”

Man: “Yeah, pretty much.”

Cheer: “Well, I find that entirely gauche. But you’re not the first person to display his ignorance of restaurant manners in this format, so I’m not really fazed by it, and you’re still boring.”

Man: “I like being boring.”

Cheer: “I can see that. Anyway, now that you signified you’re finished eating I’ll just pick up these plates and ask you if you’d like to look at our dessert menu.”

Man: “Okay, but could I please take that to-go?”

Cheer: “Uhhh…I’m holding one plate with nothing but a vibe of the food that was once there and another plate with your napkin in it. Like in the remaining food. So, I’m scared to ask, but, you want the napkin plate to-go?”

Man: “Mmm hmm.”

Cheer: “You just left the realm of boring and entered the world of hilarious.”

Man: “I don’t understand.”

Cheer: “I don’t think I could explain it to you. I’m going to run away to the kitchen now and laugh a lot. With my coworkers. At you. And you’re gauche-itude.”

Man: “Alright. That’s sounds good.”

Cheer returns to kitchen.

Cheer: “Hey coworkers…”

Coworkers: “What’s up?”

Cheer presents the two plates in her hands.

Cheer: “Guess which plate this table wants to-go?

Coworkers: “Shut. Up.”

Cheer: “Do you think he wants the napkin in his to-go box?

Coworkers: “I think it’s required to give it to him.”

Cheer: “Right-o. Jose, will you box everything on this plate for me while I proffer our new favorite customers dessert?

Jose: “Absolutely.”

There are always at least two people flagging me down to answer the question, “What’s this?” This means there are always at least two people could not figure out basic tool use and should not be considered homo sapiens. The following story is not unique. Therefore there are no table specifications about party size and diner descriptions.

Customers: “Hi, we’re retarded.”

Cheer: “OK, you’re not setting yourself apart from most people I wait on.”

Customers: “Tee-hee. See, we think that if we giggle while we let our retarded-ness be known, it makes us less retarded.”

Cheer: “Well, you’re wrong, but continue. I’ll humor you.”

Customers hold up the oil and vinegar cruet from the table.

Customers: “What’s this?”

Cheer: “Oil and vinegar.”

Customers: “Ooooohhhhh…”

Cheer: “Glad I could clear that up for you. See ya!”

Customers: “Wait.”

Cheer: “Yes?”

Customers: “How do you use it?”

Cheer: “Excuse me?”

Customers: “How do you get the oil and vinegar out?”

Cheer: “Wow. … OK. … Sorry. I just needed a second to process how slow your processors are. Whoooo. … OK. See this spout here?”

Customers: “Un-huh.”

Cheer: “That’s where the oil comes out when you hold the bottle at an angle.”

Customers: “Ooooohhhhh…”

Cheer: “And see this other spout here?”

Customers: “Yeah.”

Cheer: “That’s where the vinegar comes out.”

Customers: “Tee-hee. Wow! Thanks!”

Cheer: “You’re welcome. Please don’t reproduce.”

Party size: 2
Customers: Overweight man and his wife. Both are in their early 50s. Tourists.

I meander over to the table and get them started like all other tables.

Cheer: “Can I up-sell you bottled water or do you prefer icy tap water brought by a Mexican?”

Customers: “We prefer icy tap water brought by a Mexican.”

After the water has successfully found its way to their table, thanks to my Mexican partner in crime, I jog on over for stage 2.

Cheer: “Would you appreciate it if I brought you a strong alcoholic beverage in order to get your buzz on, in order to enjoy consuming food with your fat spouse?”

Customers: “No. We’re used to being boring and fat together.”

Cheer: “Okay. Would you like to hear our dinner specials?”

Customers: “Ooooh, aahhh, yes.”

Cheer: “We have a approximately one billion specials which I will now recite to you with perfect pitch and rhythm. I have done this so many times that I will zone out and think about more interesting things, like the sex I had last night, how toothpicks are made, or maybe about how blueberry muffins never seems to have enough blueberries. After I’m done I’ll snap out of autopilot and we’ll go from there. Let’s get started.

The soup tonight is the same soup we had last night and the night before. The other “specials” are available most nights and really ought to be printed on the menu. It’s nearing the end of the season for this one thing we have that comes with jicama. You will never see the word jicama printed anywhere and the only way you know we have jicama in our kitchen is because I just verbally told you about it. Also, we have a snazzy steak with a fancy preparation. The end.”

I leave the table and allow them to ponder which types of edibles will most suit them in the upcoming hour. After an amount of time which I deem appropriate for making such decisions, I return.

Cheer:  “Do you have any questions that I can truthfully answer, ask someone else for the answer, or outright lie about, but in a very convincing manner?”

Man: “Yeah…Tell me about that special again…the one with the jick-uh-muh.” (The j being said like the j in jump.)

I hear the man’s bastardization of the word jicama but I do not immediately realize the significance of the situation because people bastardize words all the time in the restaurant. It’s a favorite past time of diners. I default to repeating the word back to the customer with the correct pronunciation. It’s like teaching children to speak properly. No need for an explanation, just say it back to them correctly and they pick it up.

Cheer: “Oh yes, the dish with JICAMA (hee-kah-mah). It’s an amazing journey to take your taste buds on. It’s also expensive, so I highly recommend it.”

Man: “Ok. So, it has a lot of jick-uh-muh?”

I now realize the significance of the situation. It dawns on me that the man didn’t misread the word jicama because it was only brought to his attention through my verbal mention of it. This man is trying to perform the same say-the-word-back pronunciation technique on me. He’s trying to correct my pronunciation. I declare war.

Cheer: “Not an overwhelming amount of JICAMA. JICAMA is pretty mild in flavor, so it’s not going to take over the flavor of the dish. The JICAMA is sliced into small pieces and mixed with the other vegetables that are not JICAMA. The JICAMA just adds the right undertone to perfectly compliment the non-JICAMA aspects of this dish, which includes JICAMA.”

Man: “I’ll have the soup.”