Hi, How Are You?

And here came my party of five. Behind the host, five women waddled in. They were all short and stocky and seriously overweight. They were probably in their mid-50s. They all had coiffed updos that sat high atop their heads, and I could tell that they had each used about a can of hairspray to achieve the desired effect. Their faces were caked with makeup. Hideous blue eyeshadow, red lipstick and tons of blush on their cheeks made them look like circus clowns. They walked up to the table and started to try to figure out who would sit where. Every time I would begin to walk over to greet them, one of them would point to a chair, wave her hands around, and then all of them would get up to shuffle around as if participating in some slow-motion game of musical chairs. This took minutes. Just as I was deciding to lean against one of the computers and take a little nap while they fought over who got to sit by Susie Q the birthday girl or whatever, they settled in and opened their menus. Finally! I thought. As I walked over, I hoped they wouldn’t take up too much of my time. Five pairs of beady, over-shadowed eyes looked up at me as I started my greet. “Hi, ladies! How are you all doing? My name’s Katy and I’m going to be helping you out this afternoon. Have you guys ever…” “Y’all! This is that restaurant that’s based on that movie, y’all! You know, Forrest Gump?” The lady in the chair farthest from me had thrown down her plastic menu and was gesturing at her four friends. She had the thickest southern accent I had ever heard. I could barely understand a word she was saying. “Is that that movie about the retard?” another woman chimed in. “Nah, it’s that one where he likes men; you know, the one where he gets AIDS!” yet another woman said. Her eyes got wide and when she said the words ‘men’ and ‘AIDS. She tried to whisper the words and put up one hand to hide her mouth. It didn’t matter though, because her voice was loud enough to have drowned out a high school marching band. “No, Janey, don’t be silly, JENNY his girlfriend got AIDS in the movie. Forrest Gump was about the retard and the black shrimp guy like Marianne said.” The blind ignorance at the table was becoming unbearable, so I interrupted Marianne and the gang. “Ladies, where are you all from? Not New York I take it?” “We’re from Georgia,” the fourth fatty piped up. “Macon, Georgia.” “Are you here for some sort of special occasion?” I pressed on. “Whyyy yes, we ahhhre!” the woman named Janey crooned. “Bless yer heart fer asking dahhlin, it’s Marianne’s 55th birthday tomorra and we’re celebratin’ in New York City! None of us have ever been here before so it’s a ladies-only kinda terip!” “Well that sounds just great. Since it’s a special occasion, you might want me to get you started with some margaritas or our special pina coladas,” I pointed toward the drink paddle in the middle of the table. The ladies kind of looked around at each other and grimaced. One of them pinched the top page of the drink paddle between a perfectly manicured hot pink index finger and thumb, looked at it like it was some sort of flesh-eating disease, and then dropped it back on the table with a thud. I was guessing no alcohol for these women. At least not today. And then it hit me: they were going to ask for iced tea. Sweet tea, to be exact. And then I was going to have to tell them that we didn’t have sweet tea here and then they were going to be upset. I started willing them to go ahead and ask for it, so we could get this over with. Go ahead ladies, make my day. Ask for sweet tea. Ask for it. “Ya’ll got sweet tea here?” “No, ma’am, I’m sorry we don’t.” “No sweet tea?!?! Whyyy, what on earth do you mean?!?!” “We have regular, unsweetened iced tea, or lemonade, if you like. We also have Pepsi, or root beer or Dr. Pepper…” But the ladies were already all in a twitter. “Well, ahh do say, this is simplaaay unacceptable!” “Poor Marianne, bless her heart, all she wanted was sweet tea on her birthday! And here we aahhre in this god-forsaken city with nowhere to get sweet tea!” I debated whether to point out that Marianne’s birthday was actually TOMORROW, and that I was sure they could find sweet tea SOMEWHERE in this god-forsaken city in the next 24 hours, but decided against it. I could tell that my two other tables were getting ready to leave, and were antsy for their checks. “Okay, ladies, you think about drinks and I’m going to be right back with you…” I started to turn my body at a 90-degree angle and to slip away toward my other tables. “No! Wait!” Marianne’s voice shrieked above the din of the restaurant. My other tables turned to look at the crazy lady. “Is ya’lls tea strong? Like dark and freshly brewed? Do ya’ll have Sweet n’ Low?” The rest of the ladies at the table nodded, bobbing their updos in unison. “Cause we’ll trahhhy yer tea if it’s strong and you’ve got Sweet n’ Low.” “Yes, our tea is strong and there’s some Sweet n’ Low for you right there,” I said, pointing at the little sugar basket on the table. “ So five teas then?” I asked, looking back and spreading out all of my fingers on my right hand. I was literally at my other table at this point, trying to drop their check and still talking to the Georgians. “I suppose so,” they all said dejectedly, while glaring at me as if I was abandoning them. I couldn’t abandon them fast enough, to tell you the truth. I slapped the checks on both of my tables. Both parties clearly were irked by the slow service. I promised them I would be right back to run their credit cards or get them change, and I ran back into the large pantry. I grabbed five plastic cups out of the cup racks and nervously tapped them on the steel counter as I waited for one of the servers, Melissa, to finish filling her cups. She was filling her cups with tea as well, and she was certainly taking her time. I had never seen someone move so slow. All of a sudden she turned around and starting joking with one of the managers who had appeared in the pantry. Then she started humming under her breath. I was about to lose it.