Tuesdays are my cheat day and I always have sushi for dinner.
This week, a woman walked up to the bar next to me and asked, “Which of these rolls can be deep fried?”
And then, when my chef friend reluctantly offered her the cooked up California roll she ordered, the woman asked for a side of ranch to go with it.
My own deep fried sushi with a side of ranch showed up for work later in the week in the form of a man who would not stop asking for Benny and the Jets.
I don’t honor requests for certain piano bar classics in the restaurant because they just don’t feel appropriate for upscale dinner service.
And the nice way to avoid any further confrontation is to say, “We aren’t allowed to play certain types of music here.”
But he was highly inebriated, or idiotic, probably both, and wasn’t in the right state of mind to comprehend my shady subtext, so he kept asking.
Until another guest walked up, dropped a twenty in my jar, looked me in the eye, and said, “I’ve enjoyed your music all evening.”
Which simultaneously restored my faith in humanity and made the man who was bothering me sit back down at his table quietly for the rest of the evening.