[img]1325|left|Alex Campbell ||no_popup[/img]Dateline Boston — I had a strange dining experience a few nights ago. A group of seven of us met at a restaurant. The waiter was great. He was attentive, remembered who had been drinking what, and was funny. He was able to deliver one-liners completely with a straight face—my kind of humor. Our seats were in a circular section, so Waiter kept going around and around. At one pass, I asked him what he did when he wasn’t being a waiter. I figured he did improv or something. Turned out he was into online gaming. He had his own guild, whatever that meant. I mentioned that H and I had just gotten married. We were having a great conversation.
After that, a strange thing happened. Waiter got friendlier, and then competitive. He noticed my tattoos, and asked how many I had. I gave him the honest answer: Too many to count. He announced that he had 17. Then he posed, as one might do when advertising a hip hop movie—Tattoo Battle, starring Alexandra and Waiter.
He went to get an order. When he was gone, H joked that I should take off my sweater so Waiter could see all of my tats. I thought it would be funny, so I did. Big mistake. Waiter made the rounds again, and when he saw me with my tattoos visible, he barked a laugh: “Hah!” Next thing we knew, he had gone around again and came back without his white button shirt! He had on just a white tee shirt, and we could see the tattoos on both of his arms. He started telling me/us about each of his tats. This one meant this, that one represented that. He posed again, and I decided to calm him down with kindness. I oohed and ahhed and said how nice they were. I didn’t say anything about mine. Waiter seemed satisfied. He said that his supervisor was coming back from her break and excused himself.
When he returned, he had on his uniform again. As we got ready to pay the bill, Waiter sidled up to H and said, “You know you’re a lucky man, right? You know you got a 10 here, right?” Riiight. Guess I really impressed him with my fake admiration for his ink.
We paid, and got out of there in a hurry. Next time I get a good waiter, I won’t get personal, I’ll just leave a good tip. Just don’t brag about your tats, or I might have to take my sweater off.
Ms. Campbell may be contacted at snobbyblog@gmail.com
