Despite of the fact that they’re very demanding, have difficulty reading menus, don’t order very much, and rarely tip, I love waiting on senior citizens. If it were up to me, I’d wait on the elderly all day long. In fact, I’ve begun to seriously consider a career in Senior Care.
Anyway, I was serving at work (as I’m known to do) when an elderly couple entered the restaurant. It wasn’t very busy at the moment, so I pounced on them to make sure I would get the table first. They were very friendly, but after speaking to the couple for a moment, it was obvious that English was not their first language.
Like so many other people whose first language was not English, they ordered a bottle of red wine, and took their sweet time before figuring out what to eat for lunch. This didn’t bother me, as I was too distracted by my QuickCross puzzle to pay much attention to anything else.
The woman outstretched her arm as I handed her a glass of wine. It was then when I noticed a number and a letter written faintly on her wrist, as if it were in pen.
“Huh,” I thought to myself, “I wonder why this person wrote all over her–”
There is some German blood in me, but my family line has no connection to Nazi Germany whatsoever. Even so, I still feel a tremendous amount of guilt when I’m confronted by reminders of The Holocaust, whether it be visiting the Museum of Tolerance or watching a Mel Brooks film.
After taking the couple’s order, I decided to do everything that I could for these people. Today I was no longer satisfied with providing them a decent meal and good service, no; my plan was far greater. Today I would make up for the horrors of genocide using the tools provided to me by Romano’s Macaroni Grill!
Given the lackluster tools provided to me by Romano’s Macaroni Grill this proved more than difficult, so (as usual) I had to rely on the greatest tool of them all — myself. Also: lying to get free food for the customers.
Many glasses of wine, a meal and a chocolate cake later the lovely couple finally began to lose interest in my Italian eatery. They thanked me profusely, and left just as quickly as they had entered.
As they left, I admired what I did for them while staring at their bill. All over it were smiley faces I had drawn as a last-ditch effort to make things right.
I’m sorry your family was probably murdered by Nazis, but I hope you were still able to enjoy the dessert.