Tom Dylan

Making A Night of It

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.