A few years ago my friend Nathan and I decided to go to Olive Garden for my birthday. Now I fucking hate eating out for my birthday. Because we always have to go to those restaurants that make the birthday person have a fucking song sung to them, or sit on a fucking saddle at Texas Roadhouse. I would rather have the restaurant staff shut the hell up, do their damn jobs, and let me eat my fucking overpriced meal. It's not just birthdays, but also marriage proposals. If you are so fucking unoriginal that you need to propose in a fucking Hu Hot, then you need to be chemically castrated. And screw you bitch for saying yes, I hope you swallow the engagement ring that's sitting in the glass of white wine. My hatred of birthday restaurant spectacles is so fierce that my friends have actually told waitresses it is my birthday, when it isn't, just so they can see me squirm.
So this time around, however, my birthday was such a huge event that every other friend decided to bailout. I'm thinking to myself, hell yes, no birthday dinner! Well my friend Nate decided this was against the laws of nature and he took me to Olive Garden with the promise of a free appetizer. The shit I go though for jalapeno poppers. So dinner ended up being me and my friend Nate, two guys, having a romantic Olive Garden dinner. However, I decided if looking like a gay guy on a birthday date for an hour means free calamari rings, then I will deal. The only bad part was our waiter, who obviously got the wrong idea about my friend and I and our enjoyment of boobies.
So we are looking at our menus while sitting there shooting the shit when the waiter comes up. He asks us if we are ready. Nate orders first and then the waiter turns to me and says, "How about you big guy? You want something hot and spicy I bet." He ends the statement with what was supposed to be a sexy wink...I think. I ignore the comment and go on ordering.
Nate and I continue to talk, but the waiter, who is serving other tables in our side of the restaurant, keeps making a point to walk by our table as he is coming an going. I wouldn't have noticed, except he kept rubbing along past me, trying to look like he was struggling to get by me, but there was plenty of room to navigate through tables. I'll admit I'm the first person to take up a lot of space in a restaurant, or anywhere for that matter, but it's not like the dude had to turn sideways to get around me or anything. So after the 4th or 5th time Nate says to me, and the conversation goes as such:
Nate: "Dude our waiter is totally gay."
Casey: "Nate that's not nice, so he's a guy who is a waiter. Who cares if he's gay."
Nate: "Well yeah, but he is REALLY gay."
Casey: "Jesus Nate, so what. So he likes plowing guys back-field."
Nate: I think he wants your backfield.
Nate: Well it's pretty obvious
Casey: No one in my entire life has ever taken then initiative to hit on me. I don't think it's going to start with some apparently gay waiter at a shitty Olive Garden.
That's when the gay waiter brings our food. He comes up and sees my empty drink glass and lisps to me, "Would you like some more Dr. Pepper." You know that lisp that certainly not every gay guy has, but everyone that has that lisp is certainly gay. I, still not making a gay-dar connection, simply say sure. The guy takes my glass and while reaching makes sure his hand rubs up against my hand. He takes my glass away and that's when my eyes go wide. I turn to Nate and say, "Fuck. Hurry up an eat, we have to get the hell out of here."
Nate, being the asshole he is, takes the slowest and smallest bites of food ever. I, now freaked out and in a rush, say, "Nate, stop eating like your dad and start shoveling noodles into your mouth." Nate replies, "I bet you'd like to shovel that waiter's limp noodle into YOUR mouth." I finished eating in 3 minutes, it took Nate another 30. All the while I'm remaining seated, with gay waiter ass consistently brushing by my face. The gay waiter comes back and asks if we want dessert. Nate begins to look at the dessert menu and says, "Mmmm, this ice cream cookie thing looks good." Fucking Nate, never ate a restaurant dessert in his life and now he's willing to buy a 20 dollar bowl of ice cream, fudge, vanilla wafers, and chocolate sauce just to watch the waiter torture me more and try to get chocolate sauce on HIS vanilla wafer after going up MY fudge tunnel. I shouted, "Screw that, bring us a bill!"
The waiter frowns and leaves the table, bringing a bill a few minutes later. My bill, of course, has a little Thank You note and he makes sure to put his full name on the receipt, probably so I can look him up on facebook later and then we can meet up and he can put my face in his...book...I don't know I'm out of homo puns. Anyway I quickly ignore the note, throw down some cash, and sprint out of the Olive Garden, with Nate laughing his ass off and following me. I then later check my wallet and realize that I had a $20.00 meal, but I had thrown down a twenty, a ten, and a five dollar bill in my rush to get the hell out. I had tipped the gay waiter 75%. I'm just glad I didn't use my debit card, so he never found out my name. That's all I would have needed, a gay stalker.
What's the lesson here? Having a gay waiter is still better then sitting on that fucking saddle at Texas Roadhouse.