Aselin

I like getting invited to “birthday lunches”. I’m pretty confident were it not for the group invitation to share the check at these gatherings, I wouldn’t get out much.

Recently I attended a birthday lunch that had been planned and I suspect I was invited only because I asked about any pending celebrations. I received the awkward, “Um, so and so is planning it” and then after talking to so and so was told “Yeah, I guess you can come, I don’t know who they wanted to invite.”

This is awkward speak for “you weren’t on the list”. But hey, I was in the mood for a party so I went anyway.

Ushered in to our cozy booth the conversation was entertaining and we were all enjoying a summer afternoon sans children when suddenly our waiter appeared. I’m not sure where he came from, all of a sudden he was just there, rudely barging in on our train of thought. Joining the conversation, he tried to make some relevant comments which fell flat. Although we knew he was the only way we were getting food, we didn’t want to get to know him.

As we ordered the lady closest to him kept looking down at her shoe. She had a wince on her face and kept scratching at her nose. I pretended not to notice since I could care less about her shoe, but it continued as we ordered.

The woman on my right leaned into me as she ordered. I know I’m adorable, but please, sit upright. The waiter bent down to help her with the menu and she pressed against me like sap on a tree. I turned my back to her so she could lean against my back rather than my shoulder, which she unabashedly did.

Whatever, I wasn’t really invited so I guess she was happy I was there. I felt a little like the cat in the Pepe le Pew cartoons as I squoze my way away from her advances.

Staring at my menu I placed my order and continued chatting with the woman on my left as everyone finished.

The waiter walked away and the women let out an audible gaspy exhale. What? One of the women asked “Did you guys smell that?”

This is never a good question. Since I hadn’t ‘smelled it’ I panicked. Was it me? It was probably me, I discreetly leaned toward an armpit and took a little sniff.

“I almost threw up,” another woman offered. My mind was racing. It seemed that the offender was gone, so it wasn’t me, but I still wasn’t sure.

Out of nowhere our waiter appeared with our bread. The women simultaneously coiled as he leaned over the table. He turned to me, and right in my face asked if I needed more water. I couldn’t believe the stench. I think I sustained third degree burns as part of my hair melted off my head. This was the worst case of halitosis in recorded human history. The odor was like a hamster had crawled inside his mouth, barfed and then died, six weeks ago.

Immediately I leaned into the woman on my left and tried to look at my shoes.

How can you work in a service industry and smell like that? Good grief! Unfortunately, he was an attentive waiter and every time he returned to the table we huddled toward the back of the booth and spoke into our plates.

For the life of me I can’t figure out how he didn’t deduce there was something up. He kept coming back to the table like some sort of Candid Camera skit.

At the presentation of the bill came the moment of truth... we grappled with the moral and noble thing to do. Do we tell him? One woman rightly pointed out that if she had something in her teeth she would want to know. Another said it would hurt her feelings... I vacillated between being someone who would want to know if it were me, and being too wimpy to be the one who said anything.

As we paid the bill we sat there like stoic little chickens, all holding our breath. Walking out of the restaurant I had a surge of spine and pulled the maitre ‘d aside. Wanting to be diplomatic I mentioned that I didn’t want to hurt his feelings but our waiter desperately needed a mint. She smiled and said she’d take care of it.

Hurray for copping out!