Six customers, who’ve been coming now and again, turned up tonight: three are the social workers for the other three. The female social worker said, as I walked past their table, “Can you take orders for our food.” It was not a question — she was asking me to take their food orders. I said, “I’m afraid you’ll have to go to the bar, or order through the app on your phone. I don't take orders for food.” She said, “Oh no, I don’t do the phone app thing.” I said, “Then you’ll have to do it at the bar. I only deliver food, we don’t take orders at the table.” She said, “I know.” Huh?!?
I delivered two dishes to Table 43. The five occupants said, no, not for them. The elderly couple next to them said it was for them. As I put the dishes down, I said, “You’re Table 44, not 43.” The man said, “No, it’s 43.” I said, “It’s 44. Have a look at the disc at the corner of the table.” He said, “It’s 43.” I pointed at the disc, he moved his face closer, and said, “It’s 43.” His wife shook her head. When I next went back to that area, the man said, “It looks like 77!” I was quite tempted to say he should get his eyes tested.
Update a week later (241118): Can you believe it!?! Customer at Table 77 tonight said the food wasn’t for him. Eventually tracked down the rightful owner — at Table 44. He’s a man about 30 years younger than the elderly gentleman above. Maybe the elderly gentleman from last week sent him to shore up his case?
(London, 2018)
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