Come and help us celebrate
our ten year anniversary,
the flyer declared.
The Indian restaurant over the road
was celebrating
a decade in business.
We decided to go along,
and show our support,
hoping for a great evening.
The flyer promised
traditional music,
drums and dancing.
As the waiter showed us
to our table for two
he explained that the
dancers had phoned in sick.
No worries, I laughed,
we\'re here for the food anyway.
The waiter said somebody
would be over shortly
to take our drinks order.
It was then that we took in the chaos
going on all around us.
The hostile atmosphere in the
busy restaurant restaurant resembled the
scenes of picket-lines
you see on the news.
Angry customers storm
to the bar, waving their
hands in frustration
saying they\'ve been sitting
at their table for an hour
and nobody had been
near to take their drinks order.
The waiter behind the bar
dishes out an apology
like it\'s the house special.
Waiters arguing and snapping
at each other, running around,
collecting glasses,
taking orders,
dishing out
poppadums, chutneys
and apologies.
The family on the next table
have been waiting ages for their food,
all hungry eyes and rumbling stomachs.
They watch the waiters as they pass,
expectantly, the same way you hope
that slowing car is your late-night taxi-cab.
Finally the waiter approaches
with a tray laden with hot food.
Who ordered the Rogan Josh?
the waiter asks, lifting a silver dish.
The group look at each other and shrug.
Nobody has. They groan and tutt.
The waiter says he\'ll check,
and retreats, taking the food tray with him.
The family starts to drool,
like Labradors wanting wafer-thin ham
and crank their annoyance and protests
up a notch.
A stressed-looking waiter
finally approaches our table,
pad and paper in hand.
What would you like?
he asks, pen hovering over the page.
Actually, my wife says,
I would like to go somewhere else.