It’s safe to say that I’ve been to a restaurant or two, or nine hundred and fifty-six in my life. What can I say? Food is good. Paul eat food. Nom nom nom nom nom. What’s for dinner?
But not all restaurant outings are made equal. Sometimes eating food ain’t so easy and it makes you feel queasy. Other times, you do dumb things that you never forget. And by you, I mean me.
So sit back, hold your stomach, and let me tell you about some of my restaurant mishaps.
Ice Cubes From Hell
It was a regular day. I woke up. I got dressed. I went to Pizza Hut with my friends. This was back during my childhood, which I classify as any time within the last twenty-five years.
But seriously, I was a kid when this happened.
The waiter (or maybe it was a waitress?) came to serve the table the moment we sat down. The temperature of my seat hadn’t changed half a degree and this waiter was already there. Great service!
They came with pitchers of ice cubes, which they proceeded to pour into everyone’s glass. They got to me and something went horribly awry. I’m talking, the-mailman-accidently-put-your-mail-in-your-neighbour’s-mailbox level of awry.
The waiter was standing behind me as they were pouring the ice cubes. All of a sudden, they went down the back of my shirt. I felt like a human Plinko board. One after another, down the chute.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” they said as they continued to pour frozen cubes of water down the back of my shirt. Very few cubes went in the glass.
In a way, it was good aim. But still.
By this point, my back was starting to change temperatures. Was this new? Was everyone supposed to get ice down their back? Is this an alternative to hot towels or water bowls that some places give?
The answer turned out to be “no”.
Chris, I know you’re reading this and laughing wildly. (He was there).
I was a little 7-year-old chap celebrating my communion by having a lunch at my favourite Italian buffet with my family and extended relatives. I wore a nice navy blue and white striped golf shirt, which was tucked into my trousers because I
didn’t dress myself was fancy.
God, I love the word “trousers.”
Anyways, this was heaven on earth. Special occasions at restaurants mean you get to stay there for anywhere between two to three hours and they won’t kick you out.
I ate 12 slices of pizza that day. I have yet to break that record. I may never break it.
But one slice of pizza didn’t quite get to my mouth. I dropped it, cheese side down, on my chest. I had a huge triangle of sauce on my shirt. The stain never came out. And it’s a shame because I really liked that shirt.
It matched my trousers. Some would call it a nice ensemble.
I should do a fashion blog sometime.
We’re about two decades after the fact and my family still jokes about that incident.
I used to drink white milk all the time at restaurants when I was a kid because chocolate milk is the devil. Fight me in the comments.
One time, I asked for a refill and they brought it to the table filled all the way to the top.
I’m telling you, you couldn’t fit an eyelash between where the milk ended and the top of the glass started. It was a tight fit.
Me being a kid, I picked up the glass and stood up. I don’t know why I stood up, but that seems to be what kids do when they drink from a glass. Yes, I’ve done research. No, it wasn’t in a creepy way, you fools!
This glass had a straw, but that didn’t matter. I stood up to take a sip and spilled half the glass all over the table, floor, and myself.
Exit or Kitchen?
It was New Year’s Eve 2013. Myself and three friends were in Michigan to watch the outdoor hockey game the following day. But that night, we went to Olive Garden because we don’t get such a delicacy in Canada.
Side note: I’m a week and a half away from being reunited with an Olive Garden. I can’t wait. Read into that what you will.
We finished our meal and I lead the way out. Or, at least I thought I was. I walked into another dining room and thought the exit was on the other end of it. Halfway through my jaunt between other people’s tables, my friends called out to me. They were miles behind me.
I had gone the wrong way. I was headed to the kitchen, not the exit.
In my defence, if you had to choose between the kitchen or the exit, which would you choose? EXACTLY. Follow your nose, kids!
My jacket said “Canada” on the back so I embarrassed the entire country. We can tuck that detail under the
rug ENDLESS SUPPLY OF BREAD AND SALAD, though.
Let The Brownies Hit The Floor
Oh dear. This one happened at the same restaurant as the milk incident. It was a buffet. I went up for dessert and proceeded to put two brownies on a small plate.
I held the plate in my left hand and the tongs in my right. Are you picturing it?
Okay. After I placed the brownies on my plate, I put the tongs down and grabbed the plate with my right hand. Both hands were securely on the plate. Emphasis on “securely”.
I turned around to walk back to my table and not even two steps later, I had tilted the plate at a 73 degree angle, which meant my brownies went for a nose dive onto the floor.
What did I do next? I looked up to see if anyone saw, of course.
Staring right at me was one of the workers who brings the food out from the back. He told me not to worry about it, picked up the lifeless brownies, and took them away.
I was still holding the plate! So I put two new brownies on board, got them ready for lift off, put on Finding Nemo to distract them, and then successfully flew the plate back to the table and landed it without a hitch.
If you’re wondering, the brownies rated Finding Nemo a solid 3.5 chocolate chunks/4.
I’m pretty sure the restaurant staff put tape down where the brownies met their death. No word on if they’re going to put up a plaque to commemorate them, though.
Those brownies had a family. And I killed them.
C’est la vie.
Have you ever had a restaurant mishap? Perhaps a chicken soup that flew the coop? Let me know in the comments below!