Workin' for that tip

Last night the husband and I went out for dinner. We had a waiter named Richard, who went to great lengths to remind us of that fact each and every time he visited our table. I suspected it was some sort of brainwashing technique so that Richard could manipulate us for some nefarious purpose of his own. I considered that one method of breaking the spell would be to call him Dick loudly and quite often, but I didn't follow through.

He was one of those waiters who try to be jokey, but fail miserably (keep saying "I'm jes kiddin'". He also had an overly dramatic reading of the specials, laden with adjectives. The climax was his description of his favorite dish in which, and I quote, "every bite makes your mouth water", while he mimed the act of eating his seared tuna, eyes gleaming with ecstacy.

The best waiters have, for me, been the ones that have been nearly invisible, and gently helpful. Back in our college days, the husband and I would go to the cafe at the Carnegie Museum, adjacent to the Scaife Gallery. We had very little money, like all college students, but we would use what little we had to get their fabulous salad bar, where all dressings were homemade and you could fill up on carrot-raisin salad and pasta salad, all in an atmosphere of clean white porcelain and tablecloths.

Our waiter there knew that we were less than wealthy, but we tipped well, and he knew that this was a real treat for us. He would be sure to seat us away from crying children. He would never interrupt our conversation. He was, somewhat ironically, named Art and he still sets the waiter standard for us.