At The Golden Spoon, a warm, inviting bistro, culinary magic is on the menu. One cool evening, a table of three customers gather, not to savour the delights of the chef’s creations but to exploit them. They complain loudly that the tomato soup is ‘overly vibrant,’ the pasta ‘suspiciously al dente,’ and even the decadent chocolate dessert lacks the expected drama.
At the end of the night, they are not happy, ask to see the owner, and leave paying less than half their bill.
The owner and the waitress are spitting mad, knowing that the food is fine.
About a year later I am serving a table of four. They are being very rude and demanding. They finish half their starters and most have complaints. The chef tastes it all, and declares it fine.
Then the head-waitress clocks them as the people from the previous year. I serve the mains and again they rattle off a list of complaints. They order desserts, and complain again.
It’s time to pay the bill. I know what is happening and get the owner. They chew him out for the quality of food and the poor service. He listens and says he is surprised they returned, since they were so unhappy last time.
They argue back and forth and settle on a half price meal. The manager smiles politely, takes their debit card to the bar, charges the full whack plus a big tip, hands the card back and tells them to get out.
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 