How many of you have experienced the judgment of a snooty waiter or sommelier in a fancy restaurant? They seem to have a talent for wordlessly putting you down. Of course, this only occurs if you buy into their fantasy that their opinion of you actually matters. The following poem lays out the dynamic brilliantly.


She named a likely brand of wine
And thought she heard the waiter sniff
As though detecting from her mind
Some unpleasant malodorous whiff And when she pronounced the appetizer
The waiter’s eyelid started twitching
She swore he bared at least one incisor
As he slid resignedly into the kitchen Their salads flowed like rapids down
Waiter to the side, observing
Frozen horizontal frown
Blankly reliving something disturbing Then she the steak, her husband fish
And the tendons in the waiter’s neck
Some protocol or choice of dish
Blithely, blindly incorrect A flashy dessert and a cup of joe
He said “Of course” and turned a heel
But his subtle tone had let them know
How thoroughly they had failed the meal

Copyright © 2010 by Dave Grossman

This entry was posted in America, Food, Humor, Poetry, Thoughts & Musings and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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