I had my own reptilian moment the other day. As many of you know, my dreamy boyfriend and I play trivia obsessively at different local bars. One Tuesday, after working my job at the Curves’ in our town, I was tired, hungry, and very thirsty.
When I met up at the bustling newest location, I flagged down a waiter, who asked what I was drinking. I said, “just a water.” He promptly put down a beer.
I sat there, confused for a while, wondering if my boyfriend had perhaps ordered it for himself [I don’t drink]. So I asked him, he said no.
I, then, spent the next 10 minutes trying to find my waiter, who had disappeared, it seemed. By then I was desperate [not to mention cranky], so I stopped the next waitress that I saw.
“I asked the waiter for a water, and he gave me this, and I’m pretty sure this isn’t water,” I said, snidely.
She went to get my water. As she placed it down, she said, “He thought you said Sweetwater. He doesn’t hear too well,” and moved on to the next customer.
“Oh,” I said, as my parched throat and empty stomach gave way to shame and embarrassment.
My boyfriend said, “I wouldn’t be so snotty with someone who handles my food.” The food part aside, I don’t really want to be a jerk to anyone.
The next time she came by, I apologized, saying, “I really didn’t mean to be snotty, I was just confused.”
She kind of shrugged and said it was fine. However, whenever we come back, and she asks me if I want my water, I feel a tinge of shame.
image credit: flickr.com