This afternoon I went to lunch at a nearby restaurant with Budi, an Indonesian friend who was taking me for some authentic nosh.
This restaurant is very large and offers a gazillion choices from across the archipelago.
The waiter put down a large menu in front of both of us. As he let my friend fend for himself, he sat himself next to me and nestled in. He didn't just invade my body space, he pillaged intimately.
His left hand rested on the back of my chair while his right slowly flicked through the many menu pages, pausing occasionally to point at an item and turn to my face for a sign. It was like he was browsing through a magazine and felt like we were on his break and not mine.
Eventually we reached the back of the menu and his finger guided me gently to the small Western Food and pointed out the Beef burgar [sic]. He turned to me, smiling broadly and nodding slowly like a retarded aunt or a loving clown.
2 comments:
wow ... a very vicious waiter. What he suggesting a bland palate, thus requiring a burger? Or was it a comment on your weight and that burgers MUST be your staple? Or was it a comment on you ability to deal with a menu?
My dear you have been READ by that waiter.
As the only reader of this blog who has very recently seen me in person ... thanks for your candour. I'm never touching food - or waiters - again.
Or in other words: it's all 3 Reina, ya cunt.
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