The Owner
Spike and I went on a date last night to a random restaurant that we had a 50% off coupon for. All we knew from the coupon that it was "the only authentic family owned and operated Italian restaurant in Glendale." That smacks of the Mob, but we speak that limited language called Coupon so off we went. Mind you, it was a Friday night in Los Angeles so we made sure to call ahead and make reservations. Good thing too, because when we showed up at 7:30 there was only one other couple dining there. Not a good sign - but lured by the coupon, in we went.The menu looked excellent and I couldn't figure out why there was nobody else in the restaurant. Then our waiter came over to take our order. He was Italian, probably 19ish, had a scody little mustache but a sweet face. We both made our order and he asked if we wanted drinks. No thanks. Then he glanced down and saw our coupon. His face got grim.
"The owner is really pushing the two drinks if you use that coupon" he said.
"Do we have to order two drinks to use it?" I asked.
"You don't have to, but the owner would rather you did."
"That's not what the coupon says."
"I know, but the owner regrets ever issuing that coupon and wants people to buy drinks too."
"So we don't have to."
"No."
"Okay - we'd rather not."
Silence. His mustache twitched nervously. Then he shuffled off looking like we were sending him back to the kitchen to be fitted for concrete slippers. Spike and I exchanged amused looks but I couldn't help checking my back throughout the meal to make sure "The Owner" wasn't really Marlon Brando sneaking up on me with a machine gun to "erase" me for refusing his suggestion. After we got our food I kept waiting for our waiter to come to our table and say "The Owner is really pushing that you come back into the kitchen for a friendly little talk." At the end of our meal I was a bit afraid to leave without ordering dessert since I had a feeling The Owner was really pushing for us to order his $20 tiramasu. But we took a stand and were able to leave the restaurant on our own feet rather than in the trunk of a Grand Marquis. We left our nervous waiter a more than generous tip for not ratting us out. I have a feeling the poor kid bought the two drinks himself rather than let The Owner know he was unable to persuade us.
We have been making Owner suggestions ever since. This morning when Pixie started crying to get out of bed, I yelled over to her room "The Owner is really pushing No Crying." Whoever this Owner is, he better start backing up his suggestions with a little more muscle or he'll never get his way. We didn't buy it and neither, unfortunately, did Pixie.
"No."
"Okay - we'd rather not."
Silence. His mustache twitched nervously. Then he shuffled off looking like we were sending him back to the kitchen to be fitted for concrete slippers. Spike and I exchanged amused looks but I couldn't help checking my back throughout the meal to make sure "The Owner" wasn't really Marlon Brando sneaking up on me with a machine gun to "erase" me for refusing his suggestion. After we got our food I kept waiting for our waiter to come to our table and say "The Owner is really pushing that you come back into the kitchen for a friendly little talk." At the end of our meal I was a bit afraid to leave without ordering dessert since I had a feeling The Owner was really pushing for us to order his $20 tiramasu. But we took a stand and were able to leave the restaurant on our own feet rather than in the trunk of a Grand Marquis. We left our nervous waiter a more than generous tip for not ratting us out. I have a feeling the poor kid bought the two drinks himself rather than let The Owner know he was unable to persuade us.
We have been making Owner suggestions ever since. This morning when Pixie started crying to get out of bed, I yelled over to her room "The Owner is really pushing No Crying." Whoever this Owner is, he better start backing up his suggestions with a little more muscle or he'll never get his way. We didn't buy it and neither, unfortunately, did Pixie.
Comments