I Didn’t Even Need

I ought to iron this shirt.  It’s my mom’s birthday tonight.  I don’t want to look like a zhlub.  It’s New Year’s Eve.  Every year that’s always been she’s had her birthday when everyone else was blowing kazoos and shouting: “Happy New Year!”  She’s reached a not insignificant milestone and we’ll all be there with her this year.  Henry’s at the Farm is a place I have been to once before.  We’ll need to be there tonight around 7:00PM. 

By 8:00PM the wait staff and the management are all involved.  They’re sorry.  My sister booked this place months ago and a bunch of young gasbags at our ought-to-be table weren’t going anywhere.  I had to talk to a young staffer who was useless, before I got connected to a middle-aged man who actually gave a shit.  The older waitress had such a wonderful, pugnacious Irish face and she made fun of the people at “our “table with us. 

The first round was on the house.  Standing at the bar wasn’t so uncomfortable after that.   We ordered another round.   I asked an innocent question about local ryes and got a predictable answer that didn’t satisfy me as it became clear, speaking with this particular bartender that it wasn’t of any interest to her.  My mom wasn’t thrilled about the delay, but it was New Year’s Eve and we’d have a long way to go.  And we’d need it.  It took another forty minutes before we were seated.  And I didn’t even need to press, but just inquire and the maitre’d had suggested that there would be 20% off the entire evening’s ticket. 

And we had a lovely night and it didn’t really matter.  Everyone at a lot and drank their fill and shared some deserts.  The Irish-looking waitress remembered to sing happy birthday to mom and generally take care of her.  But I needed to remind them at the end that they’d promised us the 20%.  I considered the impact to our waitresses’ tip but not until we were already outside and by then it was too late.   And I rationalized that they made the promise and we simply held them to it.

Tuesday, 12/31/19