When I was 14 I had a job as a waiter in the restaurant of a retirement home because me and my buddy took my parents car out for a joyride and ended up totaling it. My parents were pretty easy going nice people but big on consequences and taking responsibility, so I had to pay back all their expenses. There were a few tables I remember well. The first was "the Monsignor" who was whatever a Monsignor is in the Catholic church. He was a jackass. He was rude, demanding and sat by himself.
Then there was the guy they told me made a lot of money developing recipes for Campbell's soup. He also sat alone, he was also an *******. So this was a full on restaurant. They had two daily specials and a regular menu with maybe 6 items and then a couple things you could have if you ordered ahead (those were mostly special things you might have if you had family visit, we had special tables for the residents to sit at when they had someone join them). This was a full course meal. They could get the soup of the day, or a salad, then the entre, then a dessert. We had a salad bar, but they didn't have to serve themselves. They'd tell me what they wanted and I'd make their salad for them (PITA). But the soup guy always got soup. With soup we provided two packets of crackers. He NEVER ate his crackers. Never. One day I didn't put crackers on his saucer that his soup cup sat on (we even put doilies on the saucer). He pointed out to me that I forgot the crackers. I was like yeah, sorry. When I was at a table near his he mentioned again that he didn't get the crackers. I was like, oh, well **** I guess he wants crackers so that he can not eat them, I guess I better get them. I had been there several months at this point and had dealt with retired people so I got that he was making a point. But I got busy and forgot. I come out of the out door from the kitchen and he's standing there leaning on his cane and he yells at me that I didn't give him his crackers. I tell him I'm sorry. He yells more aggressively, "Sorry is not going to put food in my stomach!" I got his crackers, he told me they were too late.
There were two other guys. One was a retired blackjack dealer who's hands were cramped up in the position he held the cards in when he dealt blackjack. I don't know what the other guy did, he was a very pale, very slim guy with silver hair. What I can say about him is that if there was beef or chicken, he got the chicken. If there was yellow gravy or brown gravy he got the yellow gravy. If there was chocolate ice cream or vanilla ice cream he got the vanilla. He could have any kind of soda, or coffee, or juice... he drank milk. The blackjack dealer and Mr. White (not his real name) HATED each other. They both attempted to get to their seats first at the beginning of dinner service. Then, if you didn't see who got their first and went to the table of the guy who got there second the other one would throw a ****ing fit. The blackjack guy was nice as hell, unless he had gotten there first and you served Mr.White before him, then he was a jackass. Mr. White was never nice, seemed like a ****ing serial killer who got away with it all the way until retirement. I never got his obsession with lighter colored things, but he never broke character with that ****. He ALWAYS picked the lighter colored option.
Close to Mr. White and Blackjack was a table of two of a really small thin German woman and a bigger German woman. They were generally nice, but would get frustrated when I couldn't understand them. The bigger German woman wanted the ice cream sandwich when it was available, but she didn't call it an ice cream sandwich, she called it "da brick." And she'd say "da brick! da brick! da brick!" while making a rectangle gesture with her hand. She also would order a custom salad and I'd **** it up every time. He table was the closest table to the salad bar of any table in the place, and she'd insist on trying to tell me how to make her salad. She was never happy with the salad I'd give her.
Then there was a table of four women. The nicest women you could ever meet. Smart, nice, fully self aware. One of them asked for something a certain way and I messed it up. When I came back she explained what I had done wrong and she pulled me in and said "I know we all have our idiosyncrasies, and I'm sorry, but this is how I like this." I never forgot it and I never messed it up again. Another one needed me to open her crackers and would complain that they made the package so hard to open and apologize for needing me to open it for her. I was always so happy when I got their section.
There was another guy who sat with another guy, but this guy was the playboy of the retirement home. He was gregarious and he wore colorful silk print shirts and too much cologne. He was just the type that was happy to see you and would laugh and joke and be nice and positive all the time.
Anyway, I was 14. I figured out that miserable assholes just get old and become even more miserable assholes. And that nice people get old and just get sweeter and nicer.
but Colton nailed it. Our announcers are better than most if the league - by far.
