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.
