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A nice quiet January evening at the pub. And then they walked in.
It was Mr and Mrs Claus. Either that or it was their identical twins. Santa looked very tired and stressed, and who could blame him? He’s just finished working during the most stressful time of year! He headed for the nearest table and sat himself down, stroking his beard as he looked through the menu. Mrs Claus looked glum. Probably because her husband has been working away from home recently, and she didn’t get to see much of him on Christmas Day.
I couldn’t help but notice that they were looking through the food menu, and it was only ten minutes until the kitchen closed for the night. The kitchen was pretty much finished due to it being so quiet, so I was sure that they wouldn’t appreciate a last minute order. Oh well. It was for Mr and Mrs Claus. Cooking them a nice meal was the least we could do for all the hard work they’ve done.
Mrs Claus came to the bar, and then my lovely post-Christmas dream came to a shitty end. I went over to serve her, and she pulled a face like I had just shoved a steaming turd in front of her face. She then pulled her glasses down so they were practically hanging off the tip of her nose and held the menu directly over her face so that she wouldn’t have to look at mine.
MrsC: It says here you only serve food until 9pm. It is now 8:51. But my husband and I aren’t ready to eat now. Must we order now??
Me: Yes, you must order now if you want food. The kitchen will be closed in five minutes.
She might have thought it was 8:51, but the clock on my register said 8:55. She poked her face over the top of the menu.
MrsC: *exhales loudly* My husband needs more time than that.
Me: You need to order in less than five minutes or you cannot get food.
MrsC: *exhales again and storms back to table*
I watched as Mr Claus took one glance at the menu, pointed at an item and handed it back to her. Mrs Claus seemed to scoff, snatched it out of his hands and then started to study it intently.
8:57
8:58
8:59
9:00
9:01
9:02
9:03
The kitchen staff exit and go out the back to get changed. It was at this exact moment that Mrs Claus got on her feet and approached the bar…while there was a line.
9:04
9:05
9:06
Again, she pulled the menu over her face. She spoke as quickly as she could.
MrsC: Steakandkidneypieandfishandchips.
Me: I am sorry, but I did tell you that you only had a few minutes left to order. The kitchen has closed for the night and the staff have finished.
She pulled her glasses off and let go of them. They were attached to a chain around her neck so they just swung there while I received the ultimate death glare. This was the first she had actually looked at me since she entered the building.
MrsC: I told you we were going to order food. What do you think you are doing?
Me: I told you there was a time limit.
MrsC: I haven’t ate or drank in this pub for over five years because I thought the service was terrible. My husband and I decided to give you one last chance as it is a new year. No more chances! You have confirmed my worst fears about this place! Good night!
She exhaled again and went back to the table. A very tired and fed up looking Mr Claus stood up, put on his coat and slowly walked out with her. A co-worker came over.
CW: She was in here last week! I remember her because she was with Santa!
Me: Did she get food?
CW: She did, but she treated it like we’d just put a plate of vomit down in front of her.
I can tell I’m on the naughty list for next Christmas.
It was Mr and Mrs Claus. Either that or it was their identical twins. Santa looked very tired and stressed, and who could blame him? He’s just finished working during the most stressful time of year! He headed for the nearest table and sat himself down, stroking his beard as he looked through the menu. Mrs Claus looked glum. Probably because her husband has been working away from home recently, and she didn’t get to see much of him on Christmas Day.
I couldn’t help but notice that they were looking through the food menu, and it was only ten minutes until the kitchen closed for the night. The kitchen was pretty much finished due to it being so quiet, so I was sure that they wouldn’t appreciate a last minute order. Oh well. It was for Mr and Mrs Claus. Cooking them a nice meal was the least we could do for all the hard work they’ve done.
Mrs Claus came to the bar, and then my lovely post-Christmas dream came to a shitty end. I went over to serve her, and she pulled a face like I had just shoved a steaming turd in front of her face. She then pulled her glasses down so they were practically hanging off the tip of her nose and held the menu directly over her face so that she wouldn’t have to look at mine.
MrsC: It says here you only serve food until 9pm. It is now 8:51. But my husband and I aren’t ready to eat now. Must we order now??
Me: Yes, you must order now if you want food. The kitchen will be closed in five minutes.
She might have thought it was 8:51, but the clock on my register said 8:55. She poked her face over the top of the menu.
MrsC: *exhales loudly* My husband needs more time than that.
Me: You need to order in less than five minutes or you cannot get food.
MrsC: *exhales again and storms back to table*
I watched as Mr Claus took one glance at the menu, pointed at an item and handed it back to her. Mrs Claus seemed to scoff, snatched it out of his hands and then started to study it intently.
8:57
8:58
8:59
9:00
9:01
9:02
9:03
The kitchen staff exit and go out the back to get changed. It was at this exact moment that Mrs Claus got on her feet and approached the bar…while there was a line.
9:04
9:05
9:06
Again, she pulled the menu over her face. She spoke as quickly as she could.
MrsC: Steakandkidneypieandfishandchips.
Me: I am sorry, but I did tell you that you only had a few minutes left to order. The kitchen has closed for the night and the staff have finished.
She pulled her glasses off and let go of them. They were attached to a chain around her neck so they just swung there while I received the ultimate death glare. This was the first she had actually looked at me since she entered the building.
MrsC: I told you we were going to order food. What do you think you are doing?
Me: I told you there was a time limit.
MrsC: I haven’t ate or drank in this pub for over five years because I thought the service was terrible. My husband and I decided to give you one last chance as it is a new year. No more chances! You have confirmed my worst fears about this place! Good night!
She exhaled again and went back to the table. A very tired and fed up looking Mr Claus stood up, put on his coat and slowly walked out with her. A co-worker came over.
CW: She was in here last week! I remember her because she was with Santa!
Me: Did she get food?
CW: She did, but she treated it like we’d just put a plate of vomit down in front of her.
I can tell I’m on the naughty list for next Christmas.
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