In Which I Am Abandoned

It was bad enough that one of my co-workers arrived to work so sick that she had to be sent home, leaving us with one person short for the day (and all our on-call people can't work on days that have an A or a Y in them and never between the hours of twelve midnight and eleven-fifty nine p.m.). It was bad enough that my asking another co-worker whether she was going to lunch at one o'clock or not lead to a lengthy and pointlessly repetitive reply, the kind that remind one of a re-invent the wheel session and causing eye-rolling exasperation.

So I was not overly amused when the Snooty Server abandoned me for over fifteen minutes while the clock ticked away at my lunch hour. Now if they were busy I could at least understand that they might not be able to get to me immediately, but when I'm the only one down there, there's really no excuse for not taking my order in a, shall we say, much more timely way. Eventually I was rescued by the other server who was under the impression that I had been taken care of by the Snooty Server. My lunch arrived and I had to gobble it down and in the meantime, the Snooty Server drifts over and says "oh, I forgot about you. Oh, well." When the cheque arrived I made certain whose ticket this was ... I had no plans to give the Snooty Server much of a tip if any tip at all. Fortunately it was not her ticket and I left a good tip for the other server.

After work I went downstairs only to find the Snooty Server at the bar refreshing the reader board, taking up two-thirds of the bar in the process. There was nowhere else to sit, so I was stuck under a large vase of heirloom garlic waiting for my martini while the Snooty Server toiled away at the chalkboard and attempted to make idle conversation with me. I was happy when she departed for the patio and left me in peace.

The Snooty Server is an indifferent, at best, server and a dreadful mixologist. I made the mistake of ordering a paisley martini from her one night and she over did the scotch, turning the cocktail a dull amber colour and creating a rather loathsome mixture. I only trust Michael or Gina to make a perfect paisley martini (or myself when at home). I suspect that I will be verifying who's doing the serving on the Thursday lunch shift and avoiding the Snooty Server whenever possible.