Guest 1: "This doesn't look like the picture."
NYCW: "That's because it wasn't pictured in the menu."
Guest 2: "My shrimp scampi is cold."
NYCW: "Let me get you a new one."
...and the ever famous, most-dreaded in all the land of kitchens,
Guest OMG: "... I think there's a hair in my food -- and it isn't mine."
NYCW: "...... shit."
As the messenger, I take pride in my work. You ask for no onions, no mushrooms, nothing spicy. I trust my pen and pad. I trust my ears and my ability to read your body language. After all, working in Times Square makes me an expert on reading multiple languages, numerous special needs, and sleventy-seven social statuses all eating inside the same restaurant at the same time. You know, that hot spot restaurant just off New York City's most famous tourist stop, Times Square. I relay messages for a living. Consider your special order a private message on Facebook -- it'll be taken care of immediately.
Unless, of course, you're unhappy with the presentation. You read the description, perhaps you even asked questions about the ingredients. It fails to meet your expectations and now as your server, I must die. Snarky comments, snarky exhales and other huffy grunts surround your table, encircling my rounds.
Even though it was really the kitchen's fault. Or your expectations were just too freakin' high. Your idea of NYC might have been born out of The Times or Vogue... but the real city of New York is run by people like me: putting on a serving uniform one leg at a time.
Enjoy your new scampi and please don't kill the messenger,
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