At dinner tonight I apparently became the ugly American.
In my defense, I actually think I was just an American but maybe that makes me ugly by default.
The restaurant was jammed and when I arrived at 8 pm I was told it would just be a minute or two for a table. I thought that optimistic but, hey, I’m not in the restaurant game.
Five minutes go by. I have repeatedly been shunted back and forth by servers carrying dishes as the waiting area is between the kitchen and the stairs to the upper dining room. “Just two minutes, sir,” the maître d tells me again. Five minutes elapse. “Just two more minutes,” he repeats, like a skipping record.
Another server, after passing me with a tray, turns back from the stairs and says to follow him.
Upstairs he leads me to a table with a couple sitting there sipping their drinks. “They’re almost finished, sir. Two more minutes.” So they have me stand there, hovering over them. I hate that. It makes me feel rude. I think the restaurant is rude.
Five minutes pass. They’re still at their table. “They’ll be finished soon,” the waiter says, passing me with another tray of food for some other table that will no doubt be finished in two more minutes.
The couple finally pays and leaves. It is now 8:30 PM and as they clear the dirty place mats and dishes, they motion me over.
A menu appears and the server rushes off.
Five more minutes pass. A few servers and managers pass before I finally flagged someone down. He asks if I have ordered yet or if need two minutes. I feel like I’m in some unfunny version of the Absent Minded Waiter.
I try and order but somebody else approaches the guy I’m talking to and yells at him in Hindi, apparently indicating he shouldn’t be taking the order. I finally lose it and tell them this is all very rude. My dining companion asks why I’m so upset, that it’s just a busy night and I should give them the benefit of the doubt.
I sulk but order. I reflect on my acts and decide it’s all my fault. It must be as if everyone else seems to think this whole two minutes thing and hovering over diners and not being able to order is how a restaurant should be, what do I know? I’m not in the restaurant game… I only eat there.
During dinner the owner of the place comes over to apologize about the wait. I tell him it wasn’t the wait it was the rudeness of hovering over another diner and then being ignored for placing my order. The owner nods his head and apologizes for the delay in service… not listening to me at all, just placating me with platitudes and disingenuous niceties. After 30 seconds of trying to explain why I’m upset, I shrug and say simply, “I should stop talking now as this clearly doesn’t matter to you. It’s fine. It’s my fault.”
He nods and leaves. The two British teenage girls sitting beside me giggle and whisper to each other. I can hear them despite their cone of silence efforts to cover their mouth and whisper into each other’s ear. “I can’t believe he said that.” “He’s so rude.” “And why is he looking at his phone? He’s in India!”
I want to say something but realize I’ll never see these people again. If I’ve been rude, I’ve been rude. But I was rude because sometimes I can only be pushed so far. I’m guilty of many things in my life, I have more flaws than an outlet store. One of my biggest flaws is that I am happy-go-lucky for only so long, biting my tongue when things go awry, to the point that people may not realize how increasinly frustrated I am with what it happening. And once I hit my breaking point, that’s it — I’m done. People think it happens on a dime but in reality it’s been a slow burn… I just covered it really well until I can’t cover it any more.
Tonight at the Peacock Rooftop Restaurant at the Hotel Pearl Palace, I was the ugly American. But that may sadly just be the regular Kevin.
It was a long day of sightseeing and was mostly enjoyable… perhaps I’ve ruined it entirely on my own.
A restaurant in Udaipur had random folder fortunes you could have. Mine said this:
Karma.
Consequences.
In their story, I’m the bad guy.
Damn.