Most Wednesday evenings I go out for dinner. Recently, I booked a table at a popular Italian restaurant in Palo Alto. They have a seasonal menu that I like. Plus they give you a “special” gift if you have their passport. I have four out of six passport stamps so far, so I was motivated to eat there.
It was super busy when I arrived, but as I had a reservation, they had a table. I took a step from the hostess podium only to be cut off by a Grumpy Old Lady With Helmet Hair.
GOLWHH: “Hey! Wait!”
Hostess: “I’ll be right back” <Smiles sweetly>
GOLWHH: “No! Where am I on the list? Where is my table?”
Hostess: <To me> “I am so sorry.” <To the GOLWHH> “You are next on the list”
GOLWHH: “Why are they being seated” <Glares in my direction>
Hostess: “They have a reservation. You, do not.” <Smiles sweetly>
Anywho, I digress …
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