Some People are Such Drama Queens

A few days ago, I approached a table to get their drink order. The man at the table looked pained when I asked him what beverage I could bring for him. He tilted his head to the left and put his right hand to his chest. His left hand went to his chin and he rubbed his freshly-shaven face. His face scrunched up and he squinted his eyes. He took a deep breath and then exhaled it very slowly. The man was clearly taking this decision very seriously. I understand. It's a huge decision, your choice of beverage. He gritted his teeth and kinda half smiled at me letting me know he had some type of issue that needed to be discussed. "I'm going to ask you a question and I hope you don't take offense to it," he said. "Because I mean absolutely no disrespect to you at all. And I sincerely mean that." My brain immediately started to formulate all the various questions that could spill from his lips that might hurt my super-sensitive ego.

• Why are you a waiter?
  
• Would you mind giving me a back rub?
• Are those shoes from Payless?
• Do you have any kind of financial planning for your retirement?
• Are you a top or a bottom?
• Haven't you been working here for like two years yet you say you're an actor and writer? Are you as unmotivated with your life as you appear to be? My God, boy, get a life. Don't you want a life?
  
• Do you swallow?
  
• Are you full regular or only half regular?
• Don't you think that contest thing you are running is totally lame and kinda desperate?
• What was it like having Kelly Clarkson win American Idol and leaving you in the dust?
• When was the last time you blew your nose?
• Why do you have Goldfish Cracker crumbs all over your face?
• Do you have a breath mint? You might want to take it because your mouth smells like that glass of Chardonnay that you have been drinking out of plastic cup that is hidden under the shelf where you keep the extra menus.
  
• Do you know your hair looks like pile of pubes that has been gathered together by squirrels to make a home for their young?
• Didn't you review my show last year and rake me over the coals?
• Did you work at The Restaurant That Shall Not Be Named but they fired your ass because you blogged about them?
• Were you in my station at Tortilla Flats a few months on the night I was fired, Bilbo Baggins?
  
• Do you know your shirt is navy blue and not black?
• Can I just say how much I loved you in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory?
• Is the hot waiter working tonight?
• When did you have corn?
  

I asked him what his question was and prepared myself for the shock.

He inhaled through his teeth making a hissing sound. "How fresh is the coffee?"

That's it? Why on God's green earth would he ever think I would take offense to the freshness of the coffee? Like my feelings would be hurt if he drank it and had to tell me it tasted old? It was old. It was at least four hours old. I told him that it was not as fresh as it could be and I would gladly make a new pot for him if he wanted it. He breathed a sigh of relief like a huge burden had been lifted from his hairless chest.

"Oh, could you? That would be wonderful, thank you ever so much."

I made another pot of coffee and served it. Gee, who knew fresh coffee was so important?

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