We were providing entertainment yesterday, with the DiCaro clan gathered in full force at a table for nine; mostly wearing Steeler gear...I got slammed for having my son wear a nice plaid shirt and chinos in honor of his grandma. (There was some green in the plaid of the shirt.) The birthday girl was feigning embarrassment at the candled dessert, causing chuckles at our end of the table. (This is the woman who takes her teeth out to frighten small children and explains to strangers at the mall how her granddaughters inherited her big boobs. Seriously.)
Our birthday singing and swooping up all the rolls to take home were interrupted by a slight commotion at the next table. The wait staff and a manager wore expressions of patient concern during the following conversation, reported by the DiCaros sitting at that end of the table:
Customer: “There was some label or tag underneath my shrimp that shouldn’t have been there!”
Manager: “That is terrible, and I apologize...”
Customer’s Dining Companion: “And this steak tastes like cow!”
Manager: (takes a breath) “Well, that’s certainly better than if it tasted like fish!” (laughs a little in a good natured way)
(The table stares at him in stony silence.)
Manager: “OK, I am very sorry and we can do a couple of different things for you...you won’t be charged for these meals...we could remove this food and bring you something different...”
Dining Companion: “Oh, no...”
Manager: “OK, or we could take this dish and re-cook it for you...”
Dining Companion: “No, that wouldn’t work at all...”
Manager: “OK, we can wrap it up for you to take home...”
Dining Companion: “Yes, please wrap it up. Where’s the dessert menu?”
I have crossed off “Red Lobster manager” on my lists of jobs I would ever consider.
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