Service with a smirk

Rusty's post from Wednesday at Rusty's Balcony about Chip Boy reminded me of a rather unpleasant chapter in my life.

Back in my college years in Houston, there was a restaurant in the Montrose area called Cafe Urbana -- now defunct for several years, and its location later became the fish taco haven Berryhill's. The food at Urbana wasn't really that great, mostly uninventive pasta dishes and heavy meats, but our usual waiter was really cute, so I always found excuses to make my friends go with me. One of them got her revenge on me after a night of clubbing by vomiting her Urbana venison in my car at the end of the night, but that's another story.

Now, one particular night, I was in especially heavy flirting mode. Keep in mind this was in my formative years, back when I thought two dates meant I had a boyfriend, that "I love you" meant "I love you" and that people in the service industry were really nice because they were attracted to you and not because they wanted a healthy tip. The clincher for me was when the waiter came out beaming with a dessert I hadn't ordered, handing it to me with a wink and saying it was on him.

My dining companion for the evening -- the same friend, I should add, who once helped me fake an identity to facilitate a break-up -- convinced me that leaving my phone number and a brief note with the bill was a great idea. So I did.

After we had driven about two or three miles down the road, my friend asked me if I put the waiter's name on the note. I hadn't. We then realized that it was a distinct possibility that my note could have been picked up by the man who had been pouring our iced tea all night, a man in his 50s or 60s who I don't even think spoke English. The friend convinced me to go back to Urbana, and passive aggressive as I was, she would go in to make sure that the waiter got the note.

A few minutes later, she returned triumphantly to the car. "He's going to call you," she beamed. I started to get excited, but she continued: "He said that he already has a boyfriend, but that he could always use new friends." Crash. The words of death. I wasn't surprised when he never called, and I didn't eat at Urbana again for years.

I did see said waiter again several months later at a Houston club with a guy who presumably was that boyfriend. He was quite friendly and said hello as the boyfriend gave me the iciest stare that I ever saw. We didn't chat for long.

So Rusty -- if the moment ever feels right, go for it! Just be prepared to lose a restaurant you love if it doesn't go well.