A romantic evening. A
trendy restaurant dripping with ambiance. A unique and tasty meal. A cup of
coffee would really top things off.
When the waitress comes
to clear our dishes, we'll ask for the coffee. And maybe a slice of something
sinful.
We wait.
The waitress is not
coming to clear the table. She's not even bringing our check. We try to catch
her eye as she passes, but she walks by without a glance. We signal to her as
she turns from another table, but she does not notice. Even a loud "Excuse
me!" does not attract her attention.
I look at him. He looks
at me.
"It's happening
again," he says.
"Yes," I say. "Once
more we've become . . . INVISIBLE!"
Fortunately, invisible
people can see each other ‑‑ they needn't feel alone in their plight. When
we're invisible, my guy and I discuss the shrinking size of our server's
gratuity. If we remain invisible too long, we leave an invisible tip!
Restaurants seem to be
the worst place for invisibility. (Is it something in the food?) We once ate a
delicious lunch in the garden courtyard of a Santa Fe restaurant. At first, we
did not realize we had become invisible. When we ran out of tea and had to suck
ice cubes to combat the spicy food, we knew it had happened again. We would
have tried the usual things to get our waiter's attention, but he had
disappeared as soon as he served the food, though once I may have glimpsed him
from afar.
When we went to the
hostess to complain about the poor service and to get our check, she explained
everything. "The computer is down," she said.
I suppose our waiter was
some kind of hologram.
Invisibility must be
contagious. I spread it to a friend when we went out to lunch one day. We
became invisible as soon as the waitress brought our food. Then two men at
another table became invisible, too. And right before our eyes, it happened to
a young couple at a third table ‑‑ they were sucking ice cubes between bites of
nachos.
The only visible person
in the room was the waitress's friend. The waitress stood at her table and chatted
like they were at a slumber party, oblivious to glares, hand signals, or any
other attempts to get her attention. When the two men resorted to banging their
silverware on the metal lamp above their table, she did look in their direction
and narrow her eyes as if she thought she saw something. Then she shook her
head and went back to her conversation.
Invisibility can strike
at other places besides restaurants. A typical scenario: I wait at a cash
register, intending to buy a small part for a big item I bought at this very
establishment. The salesman is with another customer, one who may buy a big, expensive
item – perhaps even the very item I bought. It will take this customer at least
twenty minutes to decide whether to make this major purchase.
Here is an opportunity
for the salesman to show how the store believes in good service after the sale.
Does he take advantage of this situation, impressing a potential customer and
keeping an old one? No‑‑once again, I am . . . INVISIBLE. The salesman could
see me just fine when I was thinking about spending a lot of money, but the smallness
of my current purchase has shrunk me into nothingness.
It doesn't always happen
that way. In fact, the service industries serve well most of the time. But I
become invisible too often these days.
I only hope all the good
salespeople, servers, and clerks don't catch what I've got!
(originally published in Laf!)
