There's Always Room for Mustard

The young couple came in and sat down at a table in the dining room where I was one of the two waitresses working that room. Since we rotated turns as the customers came in, it happened that I was the lucky one. I had only been working at the restaurant for about six months and had seen the couple before, but it had always fallen on someone else to serve them. I recognized them as the couple from a nearby college that no one liked.

I walked over to the table, determined to be on my best behavior, and greeted them with two glasses of water and menus. While they were making their selections, I asked them if I could get their choice of drinks. The boy ordered hot tea, and the little lady wanted a glass of iced tea.

In this restaurant, hot tea was served by placing a tea bag on the saucer beside a cup of hot water. I brought their drinks and went on my way checking on other customers. Then I saw the hand in the air. Arriving back at the table, the boy informed me there was something floating in his hot water.

I looked down, saw nothing but said, "I'll get you another one." When I returned later, I sat down the fresh water and went on my way again. I had taken about two steps when "Excuse me, excuse me, waitress," rang out in the air. "This one won't do either. Just bring me a glass of iced tea." I patiently picked up his cup and walked away.

Upon my return, I asked if they were ready to order. He wanted a salad, and she wanted a hamburger. Asking how a hamburger was dressed, I explained to the girl that hamburgers came with anything you want, but they were usually served with cole slaw and mustard. "Oh, I don't like mustard. I'd rather have mayonnaise."

"Okay, not a problem. I'll have the cook put mayonnaise it." Going into the kitchen, I told Alice, the cook, "Be sure you put mayo on here. Miss Picky don't like mustard."

"The worry warts giving you a hard time?" asked one of my waitress buddies. "Everybody hates waiting on them because nothing is ever right with Mr. and Miss Priss."

"I can handle it. I'm being extra nice," I replied. Everyone who worked with me was older and more seasoned in the profession, but being young, I was known to have a bit of a temper.

I brought out the food, placed it on the table, and started on my way. It was then I heard the whiny voice complaining to her friend, "Sam, they put mayonnaise on this. I hate mayonnaise. I can't eat this."

I turned around in my tracks and headed back to the table. "Is something wrong?" I asked.

"I told you I don't like mayonnaise, and this hamburger has it all over it. I can't eat this." The young thing looked like she was going to faint.

"It's all right, Candy, you don't have to eat it. She'll get you another one," Sam said. Picking up her plate, he glared at me and said, "Go get her one with mustard."

I took the plate and walked into the kitchen. As I looked at Alice, I set the plate up on the steam table shelf and said with a smirky voice, "The little princess wants mustard."

"Okay, just a minute, and I'll fix her another one."

The more I thought about it while waiting for Alice to fix the problem, the madder I got. Finally, that temper of youth got the best of me, and I said to Alice, "No, wait, let me fix it." I reached around between the steam table and the counter, and taking the mustard spoon, I slapped about five heaping tablespoons onto her hamburger. Yellow was streaming down the sides of the bun and onto the plate. The other waitresses stood there shocked as I headed for the door, and I knew they'd be peaking out to see how the little princess reacted.

I sat the plate down in front of the girl and walked back into the kitchen, but not before I heard her complaining, "Sam, Sam, look what she did! Sam, look at all this mustard. It's everywhere. Oh, Sam."

When I arrived back in the kitchen, the other waitresses were gathered around laughing uncontrollably. It was then that the owner came walking in holding the mustard-laden hamburger in her hand. "Did you do this?" she asked as she gave me a stern look.

"Yes, I did, and I'd do it again. Fire me if you want to, but I'm not waiting on them anymore."

To my surprise, she just broke into laughter and set the plate down. "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of them myself."

We didn't see much of that couple after that. That happened 39 years ago and the same lady owns the restaurant. Many of those same waitresses worked there right up until they died or retired. But even to this day, I can walk into that restaurant and someone inevitably mentions the day I served the mustard with a little hamburger underneath. They still consider me a hero.

Source:

Personal Experience