Date:         Tue, 23 Feb 1993 10:24:19 -0600
From: Anne Harwell 
Subject:      WHTM-At Lunch

So I was at lunch with my boss Steve yesterday. We went to an Italian
place where they serve an outrageous anchovy pizza. The waiter took our
order and disappeared, and since I was very hungry and not in the mood to
wait 20 minutes for my bowl of pre-pizza minestrone, I called another
waiter over to the table and complained bitterly about not having either
my soup, or Steve having his salad, or either of us having a glass of
water. Of course this embarrassed the second waiter, and soon he appeared
with all the abovementioned items, plus a loaf of hot bread, full of
apologies and back-stabs for the waiter who should have been at the table
("Apparently your waiter thought he could handle the work load, but he was
wrong."). And soon after that the real waiter re-appeared, so we had two
waiters after that, and both of them were planting big sloppy kisses on my
backside, and service was generally speedy, if a little overbearing. At
the then of the lunch, as I was down to my last piece of anchovy pizza,
the real waiter, the one I had complained about, came up to the table, and
narrowing his eyes, purred in a sickly sweet voice, "Are you not going to
share with your husband?"

I bugged my eyes at him, "What?"

"Aren't you going to give any of your lunch to your husband?"

I made a quick double take around the restaurant. "Oh, shit, did you see
him come in? Fuck, please, don't tell him I was here with this guy, he's
murderously jealous."

The waiter shook his head vaguely. I don't think he exactly understood
what I'd said.

"Let's blow this popsicle joint, Steve, this place chaps my hide."

So we paid our bills. You guess how much tip I left.

Disclaimer: "Every good story deserves a top hat and tails."