Today I went to Red Robin and started a complex chain of events by speaking merely two words: Coke please.
Now, you see, I know it had to be a complicated set of events, because I got there around 11:15am when the place was nearly empty, and our waiter had no one else to deal with. It took about 10 minutes to get the initial drink. Somewhere between my request and the delivery had to be a drive up to the Coca-A-Cola plant to have that glass brewed just for me.
I’m not exactly an impatient man. But I thought that soda dispensing technology had advanced through the last few decades.
Let’s recap. First you had glass bottles with pop off tops. These replaced the out dated gold chalices used during the Last Supper when Peter ordered a Diet Coke, much to the horror of James. The pop off tops became screw off, which coined a new phrase in the English vocabulary. When Intel discovered that it was more cost effective to turn sand into computer chips than glass Coke bottles, canned soda became the rage with pull off tabs. Unfortunately, influenceable kids, watching the episode of CHiPs where a man pulled off his tab, stuck it back in the can, and drunk, only to have it lodge in his throat, were dying all over. Not good for the Coke image, so they went to these rivet pull-forward-push-back thingies. When people couldn’t tell Coke from the ending of Dr. Doolittle, with it’s Push-Me-Pull-You, they opted for plastic bottles with twistable caps. Only not to be accused of reusing old ideas, there’s now give aways under the cap, such as the Win-A-Date-With-Jessica-Simpson. But since any kid with a black sharpie could write “You Win!” on the inside of his cap, they switched to codes, meaning in order to enjoy a Coke, you need to have Internet access.
Hmm… maybe the waiter was waiting on his AOL connection. Anyhow, I thought they used those bartender spray things — you know, so you can shampoo your head with soda over a sink and not make a mess.
I’d really like to know what goes on in a waiter’s mind. Is this really that complicated of a scenario? And, if so, is it not worth writing down?
My tiny logical mind would think that there is a small, finite number of drinks, and that anything with a popular brand name is most likely going to ordered on a frequent basis. I’d say that there’s better than an 80% chance that if someone orders a soda, they’re going to say Coke. Even if the place only serves Pepsi, has a glowing neon Pepsi sign, and writes Pepsi all over the menu, I’m going to say Coke, just in spite. It’s a given fact. Besides, they should serve Coke.
Coke is American as baseball and apple pie. Pepsi is just as American, only it’s more pinball and popsicles. Invented here, but just more artificial. Pepsi is the wonder bra of sodas. Once you set it free from its container and press it to your mouth, you’re wondering what the hell happened, but you’re too polite to say anything.
Don’t even get me started on the consistency of restaurant soda fountains. One glass is perfect, the next has no flavor, and the glass after that the waiter has decided bubbles are optional. I’m pretty sure he’s had a Coke before, and he ought to know what one looks like. If my Coke looks like diluted ice tea, don’t serve it to me — fix the machine. I’m not going to believe half the ice melted on the way back to the table, though given this guy’s speed, that may be a plausible story.
A sign of a good waiter is one that can watch from a distance when you’re about to have an empty glass and do a preemptive strike on your thirst. You’re thirst should be saying to itself, “That bastard! This is worse than that time I tried to reach the bottom of a glass of ice water in that Chinese restaurant and I had to pee out the window on the drive home, but those meddling child locks….”
As it was, I had plenty of time to make annoying sounds sucking air through my straw, though I had to stop because a group of well dressed, lisping guys with matching socks thought I was coming on to them. How can this sound get me undressed with someone’s eyes, but not attract the attention of the guy who’s paycheck I’m affecting?
Around the 20 minute mark the waiter returned with another glass, and while it looked okay, it certainly didn’t taste okay. It left this nasty after taste and plastic texture on the roof of my mouth. The bastard slipped me diet.
Here’s a tip. Most bad waiters are lazy, so what you want to do is ask them a question in the hidden negative. Point being, you do NOT ask “is this regular?” No, no, no… you ask “Is this diet?” If it -is- diet, the waiter will say yes, and you say, “I asked for leaded.” If the waiter is lazy and wants to just placate you, he’ll say “yes”, to which you say, “go get me what I asked for.” If the waiter is an honest sort, he’ll say, “I’m sorry sir, I thought you wanted regular, I’ll switch that right out for you, remove it from your bill, and wash your car with my tongue.” Depending on how dirty your car is, one usually says, “you’re right, I did want regular” He feels good and spends the rest of the night being extra attentive.
I asked my waiter this, and for the first time ever in my whole eating out expereince: he lied to my face. Big time. “Oh, it’s regular.” At that point, I had a horrible drink I couldn’t dispose of — why do they have plastic plants?!? – and no way to get a refill. It’s when you have nothing to drink that all your food conspires to become extra dry.
Meanwhile, I turned to my friend and asked how his Dr. Pepper was. He smiled and looked at me, replying “my root beer is fine”, which explained how he managed to get such a foamy head on his Dr. Pepper.
I’ve come to the conclusion there’s only one way to tell a truly outstanding waiter from all the rest: he’s quit and found a better job.