Why do we stop talking when a waiter comes over? Certainly it makes sense to give one’s full attention if the waiter is asking a question or taking orders but for the sake of putting down plates it seems an oddly lengthy and forced silence. Barring the obligatory thanks for any service rendered, I’m relatively certain that the abrupt arrival of silence at restaurant tables is encouraging paranoia in serving staff.
In everyday life, the only reason that I’d usually have for stopping a conversation dead upon the arrival of another person would be if the subject had been obscene gossip about said person of if I was planning a terrorist attack.
Would I plan a terrorist attack over the sea food balti in Akbars? Perhaps not; the hulking naan bread and wooden plates don’t allow enough space for sketched blueprints to be lain out and the adjacent table is often too close for privacy. However, there’s nothing to say that atrocity cannot be planned in the midst of a public meal. Just look at little chef; it’s out on the motorway and they have paper and pencils. God knows no one’s in there for the food.
Returning to the more pressing matter, which is being inadvertently rude to restaurant staff as opposed to the planning of mass murder, I have become increasingly aware of the point at which the speech ceases and the point at which it was being overheard. During one restaurant outing I was listening to the vivid accounts of recent gaming convert Kate who, after 27 years of deprivation and productive living, had discovered and then spent the last 78 hours playing Call of Duty online.
As a long time nerd myself, I’m quite used to anecdotes from the analogue controller and thought nothing of it as she recounted her latest killing spree, shaking all the while like a cold, toy dog that has accidentally sniffed cocaine:
“ I noticed this guy was following me so I… just walked around behind this tree and got my knife out and as soon as I saw him I just stabbed him until he fell down and… there was no one else around so even though he was already dead I stabbed him again…”
At this point she noticed the waiter and snapped her mouth shut. The side effects of being socially self-conscious were readily apparent as she averted her gaze and tried to look casual by taking a sip of water (she failed.)
My only hope is that constant exposure to this sort of incident had suitably desensitized our waiter so that he was fazed neither by this nor by my later contribution when he brought the deserts; at the time I was talking about coming home as a teenager after my mother rang to tell me that one of the dogs had bitten the other’s ear and it wouldn’t stop bleeding.
“…so I came and it was all over her face so I tried to wipe it off but she was freaking out and whining so loudly that my mum came in the room to check on us and the sight of it almost made her cry.”
Next Week; I fix my printer\scanner and return to delivering five star art work alongside 2 star prose.