Ms. Vanilla Pudding Morphs Into ...

What’s on my mind? Full frontal crudity.

Thousands may disagree, but I normally consider myself a polite person. You’re probably polite, too. Polite people are nice people. We like our neighbors. We pet dogs. We smile and wave at babies. We listen to dull stories, feigning interest/concern/amusement/sadness … whatever the story requires. We send birthday and holiday greetings. We bake cookies. We’re driven by politeness, falling just short of groveling.

When a normally polite person loses it … When all that bottled-up politeness rises to the surface like bubbling lava … When Mr. or Ms. Vanilla Pudding morphs into the Incredible Hulk …

Yesterday, I invited Himself and my bestie Hezzah to lunch at a budget-breaking restaurant. Hezzah and I often lunch together, but having a man to flatter us is a pleasant perk. 

Along came our server - young, eager, sweet-natured, bright-eyed, and well trained in the Server’s Standard Script. I’ve written about the SSS before (Fed Up! Mar. 3, 2019). I detest it. 

With only minor variations, the SSS has three basic components: 

1/ The opening gambit: “How’s your day been, so far?” 

2/ The insurance policy: “How are those first few bites tasting?”

3/ The clincher: “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

While Part 2 makes good sense, Parts 1 and 3 infuriate me. To the first question, I usually mask my feelings, offer a vapid smile, and say something meaningless like: “Oh, this and that …” This always pleases the server, who leaves the table satisfied to have made it through yet another SSS. 

Occasionally, I toy with the idea of saying, “At 9:30, I went to yoga and got all pretzeled up; at 10:15, I had coffee with my friend Alice, and then we did a little window-shopping; at 11:30, I had the car washed … and here I am now!”

But that would be mean. The questions are scripted and the server really doesn’t give a damn. I know that. She knows that. We all know that. It’s the “What are your plans for the rest of the day?” question that annoys me most.

No matter how much I want to rip the server’s head off, polite people don’t deliberately inflict discomfort on well-meaning people trying to do their jobs.

I sometimes think I’ll say: “It’s none of your business,” or “Why are you asking?” but that would be rude. 

Yesterday was different. Yesterday, when our bright-eyed server beamed down at us - three wrinkled, graying, paunchy seniors - I knew she was zeroing in on the clincher. 

Her perky little mouth cheep-cheeped: “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”  

As I bent over the bill, calculating the tip, something in me snapped. I’d truly had enough. I know the patter’s been shown to improve tips, but I couldn’t bear to hear it one more time, and just had. 

I heard the words in sl-o-o-ow motion, as though she were swimming through molasses: “Wha-a-at  ar-r-re  you-r-r-r  pla-a-a-ns  for-r-r  the  r-r-rest  of  the da-a-a-y?”

I looked up, smiled, and ever-so-casually lied: “We’re going home to have a threesome.” 

It was worth it just to see her jaw hit the floor.

I wasn’t referring to canasta, either.

© Nicole Parton, 2019