On our way out of Corpus on Monday, about 11:30am, we decided to stop at a North Beach eatery (not Blackbeards) to grab some lunch and take in the last few moments of long-weekend-bliss before strapping the wiggle worm into a carseat and driving for 4 hours into Houston (still hoping to miss rush hour traffic).
We were among the first patrons at this restaurant, being that it had just opened. We chose a table on the patio outside--which is the safest bet, with a potentially fussy toddler in tow. Our waiter approached us immediately. He was a dead ringer for Lenny Kravitz...and high as a flippin' kite. I mean, the aroma of pot danced around him like a vengeful ghost. The sunglasses where firmly in place, over his (surely) blood-shot eyes--especially prudent, since it was overcast and sort of dreary in Corpus that day. He took (I use the word "took" loosely in this case) our order (per Kevin): "I'll have a margarita (which later arrived with a lemon..."Man, we have limes, but they're not cut up, so I thought I'd give you a LEMON instead" Revolutionary stuff, there Einstein); we'll start with a dozen oysters; we'd like a shrimp basket with fries, a chicken finger basket for the little one and I'll have a hamburger with cheese and bacon". As Kevin rattled off the order, I saw the words vanish from Lenny's memory one by one (as visions of unicorns and lace doilies clouded his subconscious). So, Lenny goes off to slowly, one-fingeredly type our order into the computer. He came back by and said, "Can I get you folks an appetizer?". Kevin says, "If you mean, in addition to the oysters that we ordered as a starter? Um, no."
Lenny quickly said, "Ohhhh man. I knew that I forgot something".
Yeah.
So, then Lenny clamored around our table, uncomfortably, making sad, marijuana-induced small talk with us. Turns out? It was his first week on the job. He said that he thinks that being a waiter is a really cool job. Um, ok.
Then, our food arrived. Noticeably absent was Anna's chicken finger basket. Bless his heart: He was so proud to deliver our food ("I finally got an order right!"), we were almost hesitant to alert him of the missing child's plate. When we told him, he said, "Awwww man. I knew that I wouldn't get it right". Off he went to turn the order into the kitchen.
The chicken fingers arrived about 10 min later and they were scorching hot, straight out of the grease. Needless to say, Anna didn't get to eat any of them and instead, munched off of our plates.
After Kevin and I were done eating, I decided to take Anna to the ladies' room to change her diaper, before we hit the open road. On the way back, I "caught" Lenny, smoking his doobie right there at the bar, behind our table. I made eye contact with him and he totally had that "busted!" look on his face. I was disgusted by him and his behavior.
Ok, here's the thing: I don't care if you smoke pot before work. I don't care if you smoke after work. Hell, I don't even care if you smoke on your lunch break. But really? On the job? When you've only been gainfully employed for a few days? Really?
Why is it that I remember being so nervous and eager to please with every stupid job that I had and this dumbass is smoking grass on the job? The funny thing is that the night before (at Blackbeard's, naturally) we had the best waitress ever. She was obviously a mom, because she catered to Anna's every whim--from a maraschino cherry in her water cup to some applesauce for dessert. Kevin and I both marveled at her skills. And, she totally could've been high too. I never considered that until now, but if she was, she was a better waitress for it. Lenny, however, was an idiot.
It made me pretty mad. Mad that he couldn't get our order right to save his life and mad that he was (seemingly) getting away with it. Where's the sense of responsibility? I'm such an old biddy. I freely admit it. Unfortunately, I won't be able to listen to Lenny Kravitz's music the same way for awhile.
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