Wardrobe Malfunction and Other Saturday Night Fun

At 10:22 p.m., the woman at table 421 bared her breast.

She was attempting to not-so-covertly show her friends her “done” breasts by spreading apart the cloth covering said breasts, when one of them simply and completely popped out.

I’d love to regale everyone with a tale of debauchery and shock, but by 10:22 p.m. on a Saturday night, those of us working didn’t blink even once when the breast was bared.

Okay, maybe once. But honestly, we were more concerned about whether the table’s dessert order had been fired, so they’d get the hell out.

“Oh yeah, them,” was one server’s response.

“That figures,” commented another as she hustled to clear an adjacent table.

No one except staff had actually seen the bare breast. Which begs the question: If a breast is bared in the middle of a restaurant dining room, and only the staff sees it, is it really comparable to a true Janet Jackson moment?

Which begs the response: What breast?

More of the good, the bad, and the ugly from Saturday night:

* An uncomfortable walk-in couple who took a lot of convincing that their jeans were totally appropriate attire and they should absolutely have dinner with us. (Hell, you can expose your breasts in this place and we don’t care!)

* The four-top with an attitude who were lulled into cracking one smile between them when they realized their booth was actually fine, their server was cool, and I–the one who dripped ice water on the table cloth and the arm of one guest–was just some awkward manager helping out the bussers. (And if they’d just looked around more instead of frowning at each other, they would have seen the breast!)

* The bizarre couple who seemed to know chemicals better than food–geez, just say no, at least before going out to dinner. It’ll make it easier to find your table again each time you go out front to smoke a cigarette. (Not sure they would have seen the breast, even if they’d been seated at the same table!)

* The six-top who tried every scam in the book to get something comped, snuck in their own booze, pretended we had spilled something on a coat, and were generally awful. (Yeah, that’s right, you missed seeing the breast because you were too busy cooking up your next money-laundering scheme!)

* The solo doctor in town for a convention, who said more than twice over three courses that he really missed his kids, but the food was excellent. I invited him back for lunch, since he’s here until Wednesday. (He left before the breast appeared, but I don’t think he would have cared, either. He’s a doctor, after all!)

And cheers to my only Saturday night host, who pushed through feeling horrible and then worried I would be left in a lurch when I insisted she leave early. “Did you see that? Did I just see that?” she asked, incredulous, when the breast popped out for all to view.

To which I could only reply, “What breast?”

Let next week’s games begin.