Nibelung Treasure
"May be linked to the Wagnerian Treasure of the Nibelung..." would be better, hobbiest finds buried treasure in German Forest worth over a million pounds.
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- Category: Found
Grovel
Now he's my partner, my #2. He handles the drinks and desserts, I handle the food.
And for the first bit he was OK. No one else wanted to work with him, not the Talking Waiter, not the Nephew, and as he's of modest competence I was pleased. The "Of Modest Competence" is a complement of the highest order.
He's the talking, friendly half of the equation, the balance to my calculated aloofness and indifference. But he's too much. Every table, he fawns over them, asks them "What's the occasion?", as if being hungry weren't occasion enough to eat. He doesn't miss a single anniversary or birthday. He loves to sing "Happy Birthday", a sparkler in a complimentary piece of Tiramisu, He asks every customer their name and introduces us, I struggle to escape...
He's been pissing me off. He pisses people off, he's good at it, he's a scar above his eye where a waiter at his previous job took a bottle to him.
We're busy, the restaurant in 2 halves, my half - the other half of my half, the drink and dessert half, has disappeared. The Prime Minister with his entourage is in the restaurant, he's on the other side, Grovel is on the other side helping, wiping crumbs from the PM's lap. Grovel is of one of those ethnic minorities the PM would like to see less of in our country, this doesn't stop Grovel from his full out assault on ingratiating himself.
It's a gong show. The other side has 4 waiters, I have only myself.
It's shit. I'm not impressed. I tell Grovel that I'm going to take the Nephew the next week as my assistant, Grovel is at first offended, then ignores me, defensive, then apologizes...
I have to accept. We're a tight crew, no one wants him, not the Talking Waiter, not anyone.
***
The restaurant seems to have been polarized. People who don't want to sit in the Talking Waiter's section, finding his antics, anecdotes, opinions too much, his sales too forced, and the people who don't want Grovel, his affection, well, too unsolicited, too colored....
There's no doubt a few that don't want me, but my disdain doesn't have such a tangible aspect, it's hard to explain that you don't want to be left alone with your guests, and so that minority is left alone. On busy weekend nights we try to stack the sections according to the customers expressed and /or implied tastes.
***
We've a review in the local newspaper supplement, looks like one of those paid advertising reviews but apparently is legitimate, highlights our restaurant, we have several copies to show customers. After the initial rush of new customers the owner is standing by the bar, Grovel, ever the toad, has purchased his own copy, approaches the owner to "Please, sign it for me boss....for my collection...".
The owner begrudgingly agrees.
Grovel, he's old, they want to fire him, I don't care, just don't want to work with him anymore, he disappears when the going gets tough, his slender responsibilities ignored, he passively-aggressively kills time shining glasses at the bar while I fetch his desserts and set the tables, he's an equal partner in the tips but in responsibilities he's fuck-all (like so many others), he's pissing the others off, so close to retirement and possibly (although not certainly) ingratiated into his loyal customers hearts, his over-the top grovelling and capering in front of the customers despised by all the rest (even those who do the same), I've named him, the perfect career waiter, he's Grovel.
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- Category: People
The Aristocrats
And so somehow, someway this intruded upon my consciousness.
The vilest, most obscene joke ever. A joke so obscene that comedians dared only to tell it to fellow comedians. Until Gilbert Gottfried told it at the Hugh Hefner Roast, and somehow it leaked it's way onto the web.
The joke always follows the same formula (or thereabouts): A family walks into a talent agency to audition....
After which follow any and all manner of obscenity and filth. There are no taboos here, incest, bestiality, however offensive you can imagine, it will/can/has been included.
The end of the joke falls with the talent agent noting what an "unusual" act the family has, and inquiring as to what they call themselves. The answer is (of course) - "The Aristocrats".
Now the joke has followed a progression, it's target being to offend as many people as possible. In Gilbert Gottfried's version, it was to save a reference to 911 that many in the audience felt was too soon. Somehow "The Aristocrats" was less offensive than referencing the disaster so lately visited upon NYC.
But there's more here. Somewhere, in it's history, there was once validity (or so I imagine), somewhere the events described were much less offensive, yet when the punch line came made apparent sense, perhaps in light of current events. But that, the intelligent interpretation, has been lost, and comedians have developed solely on the line of it's offensiveness.
I watched a documentary of the same name. Not particularly praiseworthy.
But such is the brief (for my sake) history of "The Aristocrats". Research it at your peril. And watch an abbreviated version of the joke via Southpark here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CyKGHVA6rb0. Note this was never aired, it was for the documentary. It sums it up well enough.
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The Mechanic
He's a friend of a friend of the owners, a bit simple, he's dropping the owner's vehicle off after servicing, popped in for a cappuccino, sympathizing with the owner over his women troubles. He begins his own narrative:
Something like this. He got married. Suspected his wife was cheating. Hired a private detective. Proved his wife was cheating. Divorced with minimal alimony. He feels pretty smart.
He's a fucking idiot. Only an idiot would tell this tale, he tells it with no shame, he's exactly the sort of man any woman stupid enough to marry would cheat upon. It would be an easy choice: Kill yourself, or cheat on him. WYSIWYG. He's telling us this to make himself seem clever, hiring the private eye and all, but he's an idiot, and the owner sighs patiently waiting for him to finish his ordeal so he can begin his own...but the mechanic won't stop, won't spare us any detail, no matter how salacious, trivial or humiliating, he's proud to wear the horns, he's wearing the horns before he opens his mouth to make the proposal, the women (woman) having made her plans upon meeting him, he's damning himself twice with the retelling of this story but he doesn't get it, he'll be the cuckold as long as he lives and proud to tell the world, he's a fucking idiot...
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- Category: People
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