The Exciting Conclusion of Me Versus Mr. Starch Cotton

If you haven't read part one, scroll down and do so, to the end that this post will a) be funnier, and b) make more sense.

We left the story with me shoving my news story's in Mr. Starch's face, he who so boldly tried to tell me how to do a job for which I had trained for three years and recieved a college degree. I'm no Tom Brokaw, but I feel like I know my way around the news business well enough.

We pick up our story on yesterevening, when I was engaged in the work of servitude at Ruby Tuesday. It was later on, so business was relatively slow. When Sam, my good partner, told me I had a new table, I promptly rushed (actually meandered) to offer my services. Imagine my surprise when I saw that Mr. Starch was sitting there. With him was a female companion who is very likely his wife or significant other. Memories of our previous encounter flooding back, I decided to disregard them and try for a fresh start. They ordered drinks and our lovely Gourmet Chicken Pot Pie for dinner. Nothing abnormal.

Then Sam tells me that they had stopped her and asked for her recommendation, and when she told them that she usually settled for the Fresh Garden Bar (she's a vegetarian), apparently Starch got angry that she wasn't more helpful. This surprised me, since Sam was the kind of server who rarely got complaints at all, much less about her demeanor.

I brought them their Pot Pies, then proceeded to check on my other tables. Upon returning, unhappy glares greeted me. The lady said her chicken was dry, and Starch said the pastry crust was cold. They were disgusted and disenchanted with the pies, and ordered our fabulous Crab Cake instead, something that almost never fails to delight.

(Interesting side note: Christian, the cook who prepared the pies, said the chicken was a bit overcooked, so the "dry" comment was legit; he also told me that we don't heat up the pastries, so they wouldn't be warm. Too bad for Starch)

(Interesting side note #2: a later customer ordered a Pot Pie made with the same slightly overcooked chicken and RAVED about it. Hmmmm...)

So I ask Andrew, our grill cook, to prepare the Crab Cakes with care, which he does, cooking them to perfection. I give them to Starch and his companion, who ask for the check, then go clean a table or two. When I return and drop the ticket book, I notice Starch has pushed his plate away. One of two things had to be the case: 1) he was making room to take care of the bill, or 2) he was actually displeased again.

When I returned a minute later, I asked if the cakes were any good. Starch tells me they were overcooked, pointing to the brown crispy part where the cake met the grill. His companion directs my attention to the garnish of spring mix (spinach and lettuce), asking if it was a garnish or meant to be eaten. I said it was probably just a garnish but wasn't sure. She said it was all wilty and unappetizing (it was a bit wilty, in all honesty). I also noticed she had agreed that the cake was overcooked, yet had eaten all but one outer side of it.

Well, Starch had had enough- he gave me the bill and prepared to leave. I offered to have our manager take the crab cakes off, telling him as well that, for what it was worth, they had been cooked exactly like they were supposed to. They are supposed to be brown, not light and golden, when fully cooked. Well, he simply gave me the money and stormed out with the lady, muttering comments under his breath of "rude waitress" (talking about Sam) and "going to Applebees next time." That's fine with me- our food made wrong still tastes worlds better than Crapplebees, but they were welcome to Starch and his friend.

I wasn't angered this time (I had gotten a bit flustered at our first encounter); I was very polite and accomodating, simply laughing to myself with incredulity at the finickiness of the man. But the damage has been done- it will be difficult to look forward to future encounters with Mr. Starch Cotton.

I wondered to myself, a bit later, just what it is in some people's lives, that causes them to be fastidious, rude, persnickety, or finicky. What makes some people so uptight and so high and mighty? Thank heaven for humility- I don't have all of it, but it gives me something worthwhile to work toward.
As for my nemesis, I don't know if what he wears is made from cotton, but there certainly seems to be a bit too much starch in it.


Sarah Lambson said…
What an epic. I laughed, I cried, it moved me Bob.
Maybe you ought to enlist the help of the dynamic duo - you know, Ninja Noah and that Siberian kid-man in your future battles with Mr. SC.

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