“Why didn’t you bring me any sugar?” asked the woman sitting by herself at the end of the bar. I scanned her place setting: appetizer plate, bread plate, fork, knife and spoon. All the basics.
Then there were the not-so-basics: water without ice, two pieces of bread, an unused straw, four untouched sauces and a bottled premium tea. “We don’t serve sugar with that tea,” I said, leaving out the “because it’s already sweetened” part. “Would you like some?” I added.
“Tea always comes with sugar,” she said, her words dripping with injury. “This is not good service,” she said. In that moment, I could have gone several different directions.
The one I chose was one I learned many years back from another guy sitting at another bar. That guy sat with his date, and it seemed pretty obvious from her folded arms that things weren’t going well. “You just don’t seem to care very much,” she said.
He nodded while fishing around his plate of chicken wings for the biggest one. Holding it up, his face beamed with gratification once he found it. “Are you listening to me?” she asked.
“Uh huh,” he replied, chewing noisily on his fat chicken wing. “Are you going to do anything about it?” she asked. He chewed, and then he chewed and then he chewed some more.
“Do you guys need moist towelettes?” I had asked, noting the mess he was making. “Yes, please,” said the man with the most enthusiasm he had shown all night. The next five to 10 minutes we.