Hot Wife and I celebrated our 11th anniversary last week with dinner at one of those swanky, upper-crust restaurants in Newport Beach – the kind where all of the snotty rich folk go with their shirts unbuttoned down to their navels so everyone can see which men have the best chest hair waxjob and which women have the fewest stretch marks on their fake boobs.

We don’t usually do this. We’re not the kind of couple that goes out for expensive dinners in restaurants where they offer Peloponnesian Beet Salad a la Foo-Foo for $13. But we decided to splurge a little this time, for no good reason other than there were no kids with us and we could spend all of our time talking to each other as opposed to, say, blotting grease off of some whiny kid’s quesadilla with a napkin. The idea of having a romantic meal together, alone, was quite thrilling for us.

And wouldn’t you know it, we got the chatty waiter.

I don’t recall his name, but that’s not really relevant. All you need to know is he was QUITE portly, excruciatingly talkative and generally just not the kind of servant you want when you’re trying to be alone. See, I made the mistake of indicating on the online reservation form that it was our anniversary, but I only did so by way of asking for a quiet, private, romantic table – which we did NOT get. And mere seconds after had we placed our napkins on our laps, Blabbermouth came over to kibitz.

“Well I hear congratulations are in order for you two,” he said. “How many years?”

“Eleven,” I said.

“That’s just wonderful. My sweetheart and I celebrated our 14th a few months ago. Marriage is a great thing, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.”

Blabbermouth stood there for a moment, resting his forearms on his rather considerable belly and staring through us like we weren’t even there. My impression was that he was silently thanking his God, or perhaps his other personalities, for showing him the glory and wonderment of wedded bliss.

This scenario played out at our table again and again and again, all evening long, and with it came the reminder of how differently Hot Wife and I operate. When he’d walked out of sight after another sermon – this one about the pure majesty of the crab cake – I looked at her with an unimpressed expression.

“I know,” she said. “He talks a lot. But he’s very nice.”

“I disagree,” I said.

“You don’t think he’s nice?”

“Nice would be taking our order, maybe checking back to see if we need another drink. What he’s doing is called smothering. If I wanted to be smothered while I eat, I would have taken you to Hometown Buffet.”

Comments

On our 24th anniversary we went to a fancy-smancy restaurant. A violin player with greased back hair and a smarmy smile stood next to our table and played 2 1/2 songs until my husband got up and gently turned him around and gave him a little nudge toward someone else. And yes we did tip him after the first song so he would go away. I hate roving musicians, flower sellers, mariachi bands, all of them. If I wanted to have dinner on the midway I would have gone to the fair.

My hubby and I went out for a nice dinner this weekend - and the same thing happened. It was maddening. If I wanted inane chatter interrupting me every five minutes I'd have taken the toddler to McDonald's.

First happy 11th anniversary! You broke through the decade mark. We hit 17, in a couple of months.
I know those kind of waiters, irritating, but I would be like your wife, my husband would have went to get a new waiter assigned to our table or tried to finagle a discount on our fancy schmancy meal for the intrusion...that's my man, I love him so.
I say next year you get a picnic basket made up and do a nice romantic picnic...maybe in a hotel room. You may need a sitter, I rent my teens out ;o)

The worst is going to a nice Mexican Restaurant (yes there are nice ones) and sitting there enjoying your dinner and the freaking Mexican version of the barber shop quartet come over and sing/play in your faces and then expect a tip afterward...I didn't ask you to play in my face therefore I will not pay for you to play in my face. I'm here to eat. Go away!!!

Amen...that's all I got...

My husband and I had a similar experience at a casual dining place not long ago. Our waitress came by every 5 minutes to ask did we need anything? How is the food? Is everything OK? Having to stop eating to answer her incessant questions was getting on my nerves. My husband thought she was just being nice and providing good service. My definition of good service is bringing my food, checking back once, and then leaving me to eat in peace!

We were out for dinner as a family once and our waitress said "I just love babies. I can't have any" and then stood there expecting us to say something. I think I said "I'd really like a little more tea, please." Later she told us all about how she was the flower girl at her parents' wedding and her brother was the ring bearer and neither of them wore shoes. Klassy.

Why does it matter that your waiter was portly? How does that have anything to do with him being chatty or overattentive?

I think people like you are better off eating at Applebees.

Such the Romantic....how was the crab cake, though? Seriously.

That's too bad that your "romantical" night went such askew. My boyfriend and I have a tactic for people we would rather not talk to. One of us throws out the code: "Serious convo" then the other furrows our brow and starts using hand signals that indicate an argument. No one, not even a chatty waiter wants to get in the middle of that! As soon as said waiter is out of the way we go back to normal and for the rest of the evening they are out of our hair except for the occassional "how is everything?"
-Give it a try, you won't be sorry!

OH! I know that waiter's sister.

For our 14th we had an ENTIRE WEEKEND AWAY, ALONE.

(Of course that's in all caps. Of course!)

So our leisurely breakfast was interrupted by "let me share my life story and kid photos" waitress, who although she seemed nice was WAY too much in our business. So I was forced to pull the Stone Cold Bitch act.

I feel for you guys.

Hope it was a good dinner anyway and Happy Anniversary!

Julie
Using My Words

If I were you, the third time he came to our table I would ask for some privacy. It's not a crime to politely tell the waiter off.

Seriously, that's what I would do!

(no wonder I am still single!)

Now let's hear from the waitress. Me! I for one always try to gauge my guests. I would have wished you a happy anniversary,asked how long (ohh, how nice! smile, smile) then I would have left you alone. I do cruise by my tables and let my guests see that I'm checking, but if they don't signal to me I keep going. Now let's reverse the situation. I'm running like crazy trying to keep up with all my tables when Mr and Mrs Jovial decide it's time to tell me their life's story, or perhaps pick apart the menu. I can feel the sweat popping out on my forehead as Mr Jovial goes on and on!!!! I keep trying to inch away without being too rude, but let me tell you it's a tough thing to do. I also love it when they say "Thought maybe you'd gone home!" when you swing by again like they're your only table. Next time, just try to ignore your stupid waiter and don't make eye contact, I hear that works with crazy dogs too.

Happy Anniversary. Hope at least the meal was good even if the waiter sucked.

I went out this weekend also. Had some CLAM CHOWDAH THAT I DID NOT CHOKE ON!!! MWAHAHAHAHHAHA.

XOXO, Annie

Happy Anniversary! Hopefully you were still able to enjoy your meal.

Oh, snap! Hometown Buffet followed by a nightcap at the local Walmart.

Happy Anniversary!

Why every table should come with a stun gun.
Next to Chatty Waiter is Sweetheart/Love/Dear Touchy Feely Waitress.

Why every table should come with a stun gun.
Next to Chatty Waiter is Sweetheart/Love/Dear Touchy Feely Waitress.

My wife and I went out for a nice dinner this weekend - and the same thing happened. It was maddening. If I wanted inane chatter interrupting me every five minutes I'd have taken the toddler to McDonald's.

This is really fantastic and remarkable one

this is really fantastic and remarkable one