A: "there's a hair in my food." B: "yeah, that checks out."

waiting tables. serving food, drink, dessert.

being a means to an end. an end which, unless you serve the food you make, has this much - () - to do with you.

gross.

today, ironically, is american thanksgiving. now that's some serious business. i'd love to slave in the kitchen for hours in hopes of serving something other than burnt turkey to the people i love. the people i owe true gratitude - whom i wish to gratify with nothing less than turkey, tofurkey, yummy yammos, cranberry sauce and pie.

since i'm not american and the above in no way resembles, in feelings felt or food dealt, the events of this evening, i offer the following warning to seekers of a warm, fuzzy american thanksgiving anecdote: this is not (really) one of those.

so i'm serving tables one day (maybe today, maybe not) and who happens themselves in to a booth in my "section?" anthony bourdain, the world renown chef, author, tv-host. ok, that's a lie but you're insane if you, even for a second, believed me. he's american. it's american thanksgiving. he's a chef. give the old head a shake.

actually sitting in my "section" - a couple chums from high school. i won't bore you with my definition of chum or details of the relationship because it serves the story very little. the important thing to know is i know them and they know me, we have mutual friends that, when we see each other will likely become a convo-topic, we comfortably share sarcastic humor, shake hands and smile (genuinely), and likely drank alcohol under the same roof several times.

i told you i wouldn't define chums. i lied.

that isn't to say we "really" know each other at all, it is however meant to draw a picture so you're able, with little effort, to relate - as i'm sure we all know people in this category; and always will.

the dilemma that instantly plagues me, and apparently my sub-conscious (as the motives of my actions whilst serving are, post-serving them, in question) is what type of service to provide?

do i provide my best - most astute service, filling cups before they dry, peering over my shoulder enough to be at their beckon call, but not enough to cause the discomfort of a "hovering" waiter, or in this case a hovering waiter that happens to know the table he/she serves - freaking them out because they didn't come to the restaurant to see the server...they came to see the menu, possibly the decor, and eat the (chefs) food. what will they think?

if i've become an all-star server what does that say about my life's ambitions - the person i've become (or worse, the person i've always been; effectively wool pooling the entire time they knew me)? "I wonder what brand his beer can will read as it sits, crunched in the springs of his lazy boy as he sips, alone, on his 45th birthday?" is what they'll likely be asking themselves. i'm certain of it. what else could they possibly be thinking?

"has he lost all respect for himself?" they might ask. "has he decided a life of mediocrity will suffice; that not trying means ridding of his life the possibility of failure?" they'll whisper to one another.

on the other hand, if i decide poor service will show them i don't take my bottom-feeder, bill-paying, job too seriously i'm simply crafting a few more wide-open-doors waiting, welcoming their assumptions. "good God," they'll say, "he's serving tables now? and to boot he can't even do that well. how demeaning eh? i always knew he was a lazy, free-loader. his parents probably cut him off. i heard he was caught stealing X from Y and selling it to Z to pay for A."

looking back on this evening, and the service i offered i have to say i'm glad i didn't offer them my best or worst service. i'll never know if the above crossed their minds, or lips, but i do know the act of serving a couple old chums, though short on a gratification serving loved ones on thanksgiving breeds, wasn't nearly as troublesome as i (schizophrenically) postured they may have thought it was for me.

i think someone, somewhere once said if it's worth doing, it's worth doing well. i think so too, but not if doing so well or poorly stands to directly affect your tip. a good pity-tip is still a good tip.

go to restaurants, enjoy the food (or not) and tip well.

note to (a select few) readers: good seeing you.