“Well, everything was FINE,” sneered the leggy blond beauty in the little black dress and strappy heels to the bartender in the lounge as she and her shorter, dark and handsome beau began their gotta-be-seen saunter out of the restaurant.
“I mean, FINE, except the chef didn’t come to our table to say hello, even though I told the hostess to tell him I was here,” she continued. Mr. Beau nodded.
“You know, he should have come out, but it’s FINE!” She twirled around and looked to see who was looking at her at that point.
OMG, shut up! is what I am thinking.
And no one–no one who matters, that is–is looking at her.
Because they are the last ones out of the place except the party of six business executives in the private dining room. And they aren’t looking because they are a world away, around the corner and out of anyone’s sight, talking greens and putts.
I am the only one looking. Me in the suit–stylish though it may be–an obvious worker. No one who matters.
I bid them another good night and thank them again as they traipse through the front door to leave.
“Byyyyyyyye” she answers, the edge of sarcasm sharper than Chef’s knives.
I wait a few seconds, watch the valet scurry to get their car, but I don’t linger long enough to see what he or she is driving. I don’t care.
Instead, I wander back to the kitchen to ask Chef what gives with this kitten with claws.
“I have no idea who she is. And I feel bad, but I just didn’t have time tonight to get out there.”
Because we were busy.
Because we’re on a fast curve upward.
Because he was busy doing what he does best.
But I could tell he felt a little bad about not stopping by her table.
“Hey, not a big deal. They loved the food. She said everything was fine.”
The little brat.