phoning it in

I went golfing with some friends yesterday…and I use the term ‘golfing’ very loosely. What I actually do on the golf course bears little resemblance to actual golfing. I spend most of my time in the woods hunting for my golf ball. So in actuality, my golf game more resembles an Easter egg hunt. Since this is the case, I put very little stock in making par, but rather base the quality of my game on the number of golf balls I leave the golf course with. If I end my game with more balls then I began, I consider this to have been an exceptionally stellar game…right up there with the likes of Tiger Woods.

After the game, we headed to the Olive Garden for something to eat. It was early afternoon, that perfect restaurant eating time that’s after the lunch rush but before the dinner rush, and the crowd was sparse. Yet we sat menuless for several minutes, and right before feelings of total abandonment set in, our waitress Mandi made an appearance at our table.

She slapped down four menus and asked, ‘what’re you drinkin’?’

We ordered our drinks and waited several more minutes before she came back to take our food order. Being hot and thirsty, the drinks didn’t last long. And by the time our meals came, we were ready for refills. Which is exactly what we asked Mandi for, even adding a ‘please’ at the end of our request.

We caught a glimpse of her rolling her eyes as she walked away and were quite certain that Mandi didn’t enjoy her summer career as a waitress. Perhaps she longed to be back at college, drinking away the weekends and skipping her English Literature class on Monday morning, opting for more sleep instead. Maybe she was Homecoming Queen last fall and felt that waiting tables was beneath her…a task that only peasant girls and mere mortals should be forced to do. Whatever the case, Mandi obviously didn’t care much about our dining experience.

Several Mandi-less minutes later, we were certain that our refills of lemonade and Diet Coke were not going to find their way to our table anytime soon. And it was at this moment that I noticed one of those little table inserts, wedged between the salt and pepper shakers, promoting a ‘Phone it In’ lunch time pick-up service. With a simple call, lunch could be prepared to your specifications and picked up at a predetermined time (the all you can eat breadsticks, soup, and salad were only available to the in-store guests, however) followed by the restaurant’s phone number so that you too could take part in this wonderful, lunch-altering event.

Being the desperate and dehydrated guy that I had become, I quickly grabbed my cell phone and called the restaurant. Someone answered and I asked to speak with Mandi…who I knew was still in the restaurant because I saw her standing near the kitchen doors just moments before talking to another waitress. Mandi picked up the line and said hello.

“Mandi,” I said, “this is table fifteen calling…you know, the four guys thirsty guys that you gave food to a little while ago? We really miss you and would be thrilled if you would stop by…and maybe you can you bring us some refills on our drinks when you visit. Oh, and by the way, could you bring us some extra ranch dressing too? Thanks. We hope to see you soon.”

Fortunately, we got to see Mandi’s lovely, sneering face soon after the call…armed with beverages and extra ranch dressing. And while we were grateful, we couldn’t fully enjoy the drinks and dressing because, in the back of our minds, we were quite certain that Mandi spit in every single one of them.