She Doesn't Know Me

Sunday night I worked bartending for a friend's catering business. It was a small party of around 60 people (all well into their 60's) and I was surprise how much they drank. Com'on people, it was Sunday night, meaning that after all those Gin Tonics, screwdrivers, Bourbon on the Rocks, Jack'n Coke, and endless glasses of wine you'll have to wake up the next day and head to the office. But, now that I think about it, all of'em looked and acted like if they owned their own companies, or were very high in the corporate chart to give a fuck about it.

Anyhow, after mixing drinks and pouring countless glasses of wine at around 9:30PM, dinner time came for the hard working bartender (me!). One of the sweet ladies working in the buffet fixed me a plate and told me "I don't know what you like, so I just put a little bit of everything. If you don't like something, just don't eat it".

I told my friend what she said adding that "she doesn't know me, nor my appetite, does she?". Man we laughed like crazy, and when we told her she just bursted in laughs.

"I'll take good care of you next time, Jean-Francois", was her comment while I deeped my right hand to get some mini-meatballs while holding a mini-turkey sandwich with plenty of spicy mustard in my left one. I smiled back at her and didn't say a word.

Is not very polite to talk when your mouth is full with a big-O-fat crab cake, isn't it?