I went to Outback with a friend of mine the other day. We hadn’t seen each other in a while, so we were really looking forward to catching up. And then it began…

Our waiter was a whisperer. I don’t know if you’ve ever had a whisper-waiter before, but every interaction went something like this:

WW: Would you [unintelligible semi-muteness] with that?
Me: I’m sorry?
WW: [Cliche whisper sound] our special?
Me: I…um, sorry…you’re going to have to repeat that again. I didn’t…
WW: [More of the same]
Me: Are you really asking me to grow a mustache? Kevin, are you hearing this?
[awkward silence; he leaves to get us more bread]

Frustrating? Yes. But the most frustrating aspect of our dining experience was the over-waiting. You know what I’m talking about. Your over-anxious waiter is either A) really, really excited about serving you, or B) really wanting you to order/eat/pay/leave so he can get you the heck out of his section.

The frequency and absurdity of his visits caused us to actually start counting how many times he came to our table. 23 times! Is this necessary, over-waiter? Are you that concerned about my water level or getting that pesky plate out of my way? What do you think happened in the 12 seconds since you last asked me if I was doing ok that you would need to ask me again? Why would I possibly want a Bloomin’ Onion after my dessert?

Oh, over-waiter. I wish you worked at an airport. I would like you in that context.