Saturday, April 09, 2005

Saturday, April 09, 2005
Waxing Moon
Jupiter Retrograde
Mercury Retrograde
Pluto Retrograde
Sunny and mild

It started with a personality test.

Several of my blogging friends have taken it over the past few days. I saw the link, clicked it and took the test. As usual, the questions were too limiting, but I did the best I could.

The result was that my “type” – sorry, don’t have a “type”, there’s only one of me – is “INFJ” and I’m a “Counselor Idealist” sharing characteristics with Ghandi and Eleanor Roosevelt.

Um, no.

Flattering, but I don’t think so. I’m not as understanding of human nature as they are.

I proved that in an incident that happened on my dinner break.

I went to one of my favorite French restaurants, mainly because I’m addicted to their mashed potatoes. I know, weird, but whatever. It keeps changing its name, but as long as those potatoes are there, I’ll keep coming back. They sat me at a lovely table near the fountain, the service was great. I had a beautiful glass of merlot, the roast chicken with asparagus and . . .mashed potatoes. All in all, a lovely way to unwind between day work and the show.

The hostess led a group of three stringy, yuppie, overindulged women in oversized ugly jewelry, badly done makeup, gaudy diamond rings and hounds tooth check too large for their frames to a table near me. They pitched a fit. They wanted to sit further out front, where they could be seen. They were horrible about it. As the hostess led them away, I overheard the bitchiest of the three say, “My husband always says you can never sit where they first bring you. You have to show them who’s in charge.” So I said something absolutely horrible in French. But then, everything sounds better in French, doesn’t it.? The women didn’t know what it meant, but the wait staff howled with laughter. (Most of the wait staff is still French-speaking, although my waiter was a lovely man from Queens –accent and all – who’d just started).

They get their table and are awful – shrilling, demanding that they have one waiter for each of them, etc., etc. I wish the owner had pitched them out.

I drank my coffee and ate my chocolate hazelnut banana crepe, paid my bill, left a good tip for my waiter, who was delighted that he had my table instead of theirs.

As I walked past them, I stopped and said (in an exaggerated parody of a French accent), “I don’t allow your kind seated near me.”

“Oh my God, you’re famous, aren’t you?!!!” One of them screeched. “Can I have your autograph?”

“Never,” I said calmly, and walked out.

The wait staff applauded.

So much for personality tests.

Devon
www.devonellingtonwork.com
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2 Comments:

At 1:14 PM, Blogger Colin said...

That is pure class, Devon!! :-D

 
At 2:50 PM, Blogger Michelle Miles said...

hehe.. I love this story. :)

 

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