My second job, the one that keeps me in Sevens, is as a waitress at Tremont 647 in Boston's South End. I work there every Saturday.
This Saturday I was waiting on a three-top who were at least a little bit tipsy when they sat. By the time it was time for me to take their order, they were well on their way to drunk-ville. Situations like this can occasionally be perilous, but these particular patrons were hilarious, capable of taking a little shit, and I loved them.
WOMAN IN SEAT 2: I have to have a steak. I've been thinking of steak since this morning, since you mentioned it (points across the table to MAN IN SEAT 4)
KITTY: The steak is delicious
MAN IN SEAT 4: Well, I'm going to have to have one too. I'll have mine medium well, sweetie. I like me just a little pink in the middle.
KITTY: Who doesn't? (looking at WOMAN IN SEAT 2)And how would you like your steak cooked?
WOMAN IN SEAT 2: I'm going to have mine medium...(dramatic pause)...rare
KITTY: Ooh. Excellent. (looking at WOMAN IN SEAT 3) And, what can I get for you, dear?
WOMAN IN SEAT 3: Well...I just don't know...I mean, it's so unoriginal...but I really want to have the steak, too...
KITTY: (gently, affirmatively) Hey, it's a good steak. I guarantee, you won't regret it.
WOMAN IN SEAT 3: (hemming and hawing) Oh, all right. But I can't have mine done medium well, that's just too cooked for me. Nor do I want mine done medium rare, because I think that will be too pink. If I get it medium rare will there be blood? I can't handle blood. Why don't I get mine...(another long pause, as if this is a VERY important decision)...medium
KITTY: Now that's an easy order, you're all having the same thing. Of course, I guess they are a bit different, since one steak is medium well, one steak is medium rare, and one steak is juuuust right.
I'm like Goldilocks and the Three Steaks