Sitting alongside a date at Watercourse, Denver’s premier vegetarian restaurant, I ordered the Chicken and Biscuits. The “chicken” being thick slices of Cauliflower. This is when I pulled out my best English Nobleman voice and asked for all white meat cauliflower. Thinking I was hilarious, I broke into laughter. The Server, served up a courtesy laugh. I looked over to my date and quickly remembered why I never get second dates.
Back when the earth had just finished cooling off, and slightly before the mightiest predator ever to roam the earth, the Spinosaurus was king, I was a gay waiter at Denver’s then premier vegetarian restaurant. I would imminently despise any jerk that made “Dad-like” jokes in my direction. They might have felt my rage in the fine act of armpit toast. That was a specialty created by my fellow gay waiter, Nick, whom created the recipe. It was an easy recipe to follow; while gathering the table’s food you would place their toast into your armpit. Then, serve hot.
Flash forward 97 million years, and there it was. I have turned into what I most despised; the type of guy whom makes jokingly flirts with Servers. My father has always flirted with Waitresses. His Father flirted with Waitresses. I am trapped in a long linage of males whom work out their joke material on unsuspecting wait staff.
I would like to take this opportunity to give an open apology to all Servers that have endured my people. While I’m at it, I should also apologize for anyone who ate at The Harvest Restaurant in Denver, Colorado from 1991 – 1994. I am sorry for making you eat my armpits.