Meeting Mr. Mogul
By: Mel RyleI walked up to take his order after Reyna returned to her station by the front door. She was giving him sly glances on the way back, which made me raise my eyebrow in question. I was a few meters away from said customer when I almost stopped dead on my tracks.
I don’t want to exaggerate, but the man managed to capture every woman’s gaze in the vicinity. The women eyed him with this look that was almost primal in nature. The man was capital H O T. His blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, and well-built arms, which slightly bulged in his slick black suit, made almost everyone stare at him and sigh.
But I’m not like everyone else. I wasn’t easily swayed by looks. This kind of man is what you typically call a playboy, with looks, and possibly a huge bank account, to boot. With my wit and confidence intact, I walked up to him with a fake smile and a welcoming vibe.
“Good evening, sir. Are you ready to order?” I asked as I took out the white pad paper from my apron.
While I was waiting for him to dictate his order, I noticed him make a short pause. I glanced at him out of curiosity since this rarely happens. The only times customers pause is when they aren’t ready to order (made obvious when they say “Uhmm” while reading the menu), or when they are listening to someone on the phone, both of which the man wasn’t doing. So you’d understand my surprise when he paused.
“Are you ready to order, sir?” I asked again while he kept on staring at me.
He finally snapped out of it and glanced down at the menu in front of him. “I’d like tonight’s special and my usual wine,” he replied in a deep, raspy voice with a slight British accent.
“And, what would your usual wine be, sir?” I asked nicely as I wrote his order down.
The man paused again, which made me look back at him in confusion. He looked shocked as he stared at me, his clear blue eyes wide. “You don’t know who I am?” he asked like it was an absurd thing that I didn’t recognize him.
I gave him a small, apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’m new here, so I’m not yet familiar with the regulars,” I replied softly so as not to offend him. I didn’t want to cause a scene here on my first month. I’ve been tolerable with people like him this long, I’m not giving up now.
“Figures,” he mumbled angrily as he shook his head. “You can ask your manager what my usual is. That would be all,” he commanded, signaling the end of our conversation.
I was taken aback by his words. I wanted to slap him right then and there, but I held it in. I bowed as I closed my mouth shut and turned to walk away without saying a word. That man is definitely the number one douchebag and asshole of the night. I stomped towards where the manager stood as he scanned the whole restaurant. Once he saw me looking pissed and fired up, he raised his eyebrows in question.
“Is there something wrong?” he asked when I finally reached him.
“Table nine’s usual order, sir,” I stated with clenched teeth.
He blinked in alarm. Surprised by my anger, he looked behind me to see which table I was referring to. Suddenly, he gasped and looked back at me in shock.
“Did you say anything stupid to him?” he asked urgently as he grabbed my shoulder.
“No,” I replied, confused by his sudden fierceness.
One of the things I’ve observed about the manager is that he is a calm man. Even when a customer was complaining or shouting in the middle of the room, the man can handle any situation with a smile. So I was surprised to see him disgruntled.
“Why didn’t you tell me that he’s here? God, that woman! I’ll have to reprimand Reyna,” he mumbled in annoyance as he walked away from me, ignoring my presence.
“Uhmm, sir? What’s his usual?” I asked softly as I followed him.
“You attend to your other tables. I’ll take care of table nine,” he stated strictly, facing me a little before he walked towards the direction of the kitchen.
I’m not really sure what just happened, so I just shut my mouth and nodded in reply. I also followed the manager’s orders of waiting on my other tables except table nine. When the manager got back and walked out of the kitchen, he had a tray of food and a bucket of wine in hand. I turned to look at the man again, wondering who he was. Why is he getting special treatment? And why did he get his order so quickly? The food service here usually isn’t that fast. Unless he called in early. Maybe the man had booked in advance considering his table was reserved. That was the only reasonable answer I could think of.
After solving that mystery on my own, I went back to work without having those thoughts lingering in my head. Before I resumed my job, however, I got one last look at the man when he finished his meal. I noticed, yet again, that the manager was the only person attending to him. I also noticed that he didn’t pay any bill, which was odd. But since it was the manager who served him, that would be his problem not mine.
