The other day I was sitting with one of the hostesses before the doors opened at 11. She mentioned that a film crew would be in at one o’ clock to film a commercial. “Neat,” I said. “Not really,” she replied, “I bet they’ll be a nuisance.”

I shrugged and thought little more about it until I saw two heads at my table, one of them looking down into a camera. I audibly groaned. I was scheduled out early and was fearful that the commercial creating would take all afternoon. After unsuccessfully trying to give the table away to the closer, I made my way over. I opened my mouth to say hello, when I was interrupted by a stuttering, blathering, incredibly pushy gentleman in an argyle sweater vest.*

“HiWeAreGoingToBeHijackingYourTableToMakeACommercialForAHealthClub. So,Um,I’llHaveAPanna. AndChris,You?,” he declared at lightspeed. Chris wanted a Perrier. I fetched the sissies some fancy water, and before long one of the chicks to be filmed arrived. She didn’t look at me, just stammered “Water.” before being verbally assaulted by Argyle Sweater Man. Another woman arrived a few minutes later. She looked me up and down with disdain and mouthed, “Water.” I fetched the drink and came on back to the table.

I asked them if they cared to hear the specials, which Argyle Sweater Man took as a prompt to begin talking again, full speed. “OkayHere’sWhat’sGoingToHappen. YouAreGoingToGoAwayForAboutTenMinutesWhileWeChatAboutFood. Then,WeAreGoingToHaveTheLadiesOrderOnCamera.” I was fine with that. I had five other tables to attend to.

Seven minutes or so later (I was counting), Lady #2 flagged me down rudely. I stepped over to the table, opened my book, poised pen over paper. I heard the camera click on below me. Lady #1’s face erupted with cheese as she beamingly ordered the following: Chutney Chicken with no chutney, and the sweet potato and green beans with no butter. Except she worked her overly glossy lips for the camera in this abhorrently ridiculous manner that made her look like a scary, smiling mule. Lady #2 ordered the burger and fries–JUST KIDDING! I scratched out her first, joke order and wrote that she’d be copying Lady #1. Argyle Sweater Man and crew, unsurprisingly, weren’t hungry.**

I mostly ignored them while their food was cooking. When it was ready I took it out promptly to help speed things right along. I made it to the table and was about to set down the first plate when I was given The Hand by Argyle Sweater Man. Like he was directing me or something. “WaitThereOneSecond,” he ordered. I did wait. I waited, and I somehow kept myself from throwing down my SAG card and demanding to speak with my agent before I made another movement. Only thing is I have no SAG card, nor do I have an agent, so I just stood, fuming, holding the cold chicken in both hands. Camera Guy finally cued me to go, at which time I plopped down both plates and promptly walked away.

Sweater Guy thrust a credit card at me halfway through the womens’ meals, signed his slip and left. The two women each left exactly one half of the 6 oz. chicken they ordered, as well as one half of their sweet potato. I boxed the remaining food up and sent them on their way. I picked up the credit card slip to find a $4 tip.

Then yesterday Lady #1 came back in for lunch. But this time there was no camera crew to document her every bite. She ordered a bourbon for an appetizer, a caesar salad to start, then the olive oil-laden pasta with extra cheese, add chicken, followed by another bourbon for dessert. After her second drink she shot me this really sweet, vulnerable look. An apology of sorts. She definitely had a buzz, but it was nice of her to be nice, if only with her face.

So I shot her a look that conveyed that I would totally forget all about that four-layer chocolate cake she drunkenly ordered very next thing.

*I’d bet a bizbillion thousand dollars that guy was on coke.
**See above.