Food Service Humor

Probably the most disturbing thing about food service, other than the nagging sensation that Pulp Fiction could happen to you, is the fact that there exists, whether you like it or not, something called Food Service Humor.

Example A: “I’ll just take that plate out of your way. Would you guys like any desserrrrttt?”

This last sentence is said as if you just asked if they’d like to rob a collection plate or punch their boss in the face. The great thing about that tricky whiny upturn of inflection at the end of that word is that it could mean: A) Oh yeah baby, I know you want some or B) This is a f****** stupid question and I’m sorry I have to ask if you’d like to slap me I will bend down so you can do it.

The guest, undoubtedly a vegan since they outnumber the fatties in this town, will respond: “Oh my goodness, I couldn’t. I’m stuffed!”

Your slightly parted lips will open into a naughty little o of laughter: “Ohhh….ah, well then, I’ll just bring the check over,” you respond, beaming.

Sometimes you will make it all the way back to the kitchen beaming like a friggin alien spaceship. Sometimes you will even make it over to the trash can to scrape their plate and accidentally make eye contact with the Guatemalan single mother dishwasher before you wipe that stupid grin off your face. Then, if you are the sort of person who likes yourself, even a little, well, you can give up on that at least for the next five minutes until you tell another one of your dessert zingers.

            Example B: “You guys should try the spicy bean dip….seriously, it’s fantastic.”

            You say this last bit in a whisper to emphasize that this isn’t something you share with just anybody, and follow it with a quick nod to affirm that you’re serious. There are mysterious unknown reasons why revealing that you eat food creates an instant bridge of intimacy between yourself and the guest. The decision to make this a revelation was made by the same sub-committee who decided we all must wear black like a troop of unpainted Russian Matryoshka dolls.     

The guest looks up at this point, laughs, and blinks encouragingly, as you undoubtedly would too if your manikin just came to life and started expressing himself.

“I eat it all the time,” you say, suddenly finding yourself in the spotlight. You are at this point wondering why you chose to recommend the spicy bean dip, and if people actually have, say, a spicy bean dip aura, and if so, what your appetizer aura is.  But you keep talking. “I actually can’t stop eating bean dip. Sometimes I just go at with a spoon, and don’t even worry about the chips. Sometimes…haha” (here you press a hand to your mouth and look around) “I tell people that’s why I work here.” You press your lips together before you can start screaming, “ON A PLAIN IN A TRAIN IN A CAR NOW I’M EATING IT NOW IN MY MIND MY BEAN DIP MY BEAN DIP!”

            The guest laughs again, and does NOT say the following: “Oh yeah? Because last week you said it was the peanut butter soup.” Because that would really suck for you.

            Instead, they buy the spicy bean dip and that’s pretty much the end of that story.

            Example C: A couple walks in the front door with a baby.

            “Will that be…haha…two and a half?” you ask.

            The guest thinks this is funny because well, as you have seen, they are guests. Guests have shitty senses of humor.

You think this is funny because waiting on a baby is exactly like waiting on a person that has just been cut in half. You run around trying to make it stop spouting shit out of the holes in its face. If you could just once, look a baby straight in the face and say, “Are you going to order anything? Or are you just gonna sit there and throw fruit loops on my floor?” the whole experience might not be that bad.

But the baby will not be ignored. The instant you look at it, instead of the dawning look of horror you should be wearing, your face screws up into this dandelion shower spout of curiosity—how old are youuuu, how much did you weighhhhh, do you like macaroni and cheeesse—it’s as though you’re trying to pick up the baby at a bar instead of just try to convince its parents that you’re not a complete monster, as all complete monsters ignore babies.

When the baby leaves you its number, then it’s time to get horrified. Then it’s time to find that baby, feed him a shit ton of dessert, and make some spicy bean dip out of him.