A few weeks ago a middle-aged couple came into the restaurant for lunch.
I seated them, gave them menus, told them the specials, and then went and leant on the bar and gossipped with the barman for a couple of minutes.
Then I went back to the table and said “Hi! Would you like to order some drinks?”
They both stared at me, without saying anything, for a really, really long time – like more than 10 seconds. I know it doesn’t sound like a lot, but the next time someone asks you a very easy question, just stare at them for 10 seconds without making a sound, and you’ll see how creepy and unsettling it is.
Eventually, the man said, “Where do I know you from?”
FUCK. I HATE that question. I spend a lot of my time drunk and I have blackouts a lot, so whenever a total stranger – who I could swear I’ve never laid eyes on before – asks me where they know me from, my first thought is always that I’ve slept with them and don’t remember because I was so trashed.
Obviously, I couldn’t say that, so I gabbled something about having worked in catering in Oxford for quite a long time and he accepted it and (eventually) ordered a fucking drink.
Afterwards, I went into the kitchen and told the chef, and he said, “You should have said ‘I used to be a prostitute.’”
