I just got back from dinner. I had a grand ol’ time, with grilled steaks and potatoes to nosh on, while drinking excessive amounts of Bordeaux.
I lived it up, mind you. While at dinner, “The Fly” exclaimed (using a hand gesture): “2 1/2 inch rib eyes for all,” as if they grew on trees. At this small, but high end, restaurant, people referred to me as “The Santa Claus of Steaks.”
Being in a generous mood, I ordered several rounds of poor people beer, for the wolves at the bar. I even let my guests order a giant chocolate cake for dessert.
Feeling good, despite recent market chro-bars to the cranium, I was pleased to be tagged “Santa Claus of Steaks,” being that everyone seemed so hungry at this restaurant.
However, and I do mean however, once the bill came I was somewhat vexed. The grand total for my charitable acts amounted to an absurd $1,333.06.
I shouted to the waiter: “How dare you approach me with such lies. If this were medieval times and I were King, I’d have your head removed from your neck for such an affront. Go fetch me another bill.”
The young waiter replied: “Yes, Sir,” and went to discuss matters with his manager.
Feeling as if I had just defeated this young aspiring actor, I ordered another round of whiskey for my party. Things were looking up, yet again.
However, and I do mean however, this young insolent fool re-approached my table of “steak and honor” and handed me an even more egregious bill.
He exclaimed: “So sorry, Sir. I forgot to add our 25% gratuity. Your new bill is $1,666.33. Will you be paying with cash or credit”?
I stood up with great emotion and determination, stating: “What’s the meaning of this? I demand a thorough explanation. I’ve been a customer of this shit house for 10 years. I’ve never had a bill so erroneously high.”
He shot back, with a sarcastic tone to his voice: “Inflation.”
Feeling defeated and desperate (I cannot believe what I’m about to tell you), I replied: “But, but Dennis Kneale says inflation is a figment of my imagination. It’s backward looking after all. I refuse to acknowledge your costs.”
By then, people throughout the establishment were looking at me strangely, with the exception to the wolves at the bar—who encouraged me to “punch him (the waiter) in the fucking face.”
So, being the man of honour [sic] that I am, I paid the bastard of a bill and “accidentally” broke a few glasses, prior to leaving my “table of steak and honor.”Comments »