Another really enjoyable and very long day yesterday. We were in the van by 8am to drive to Bristol in time for a BBC Radio Bristol interview with Doctor and comedian Phil Hammond. It was great to meet him, as I am a big fan of his work; I’m not too fussed with his comedy, but his administering of prescriptive medical drugs is very efficient and always on-the-money.
After the gig, we went to an Indian restaurant with some friends. Everyone’s meals arrived at the same time, apart from mine. I noticed that everyone was waiting for mine to arrive before they started. I instructed them to start eating, but they said that they would wait. Five minutes elapsed and still my meal hadn’t arrived. Upon enquiring, the waiter said he would go and investigate. Five minutes later he returned. The others still hadn’t started their meals, despite my repeated protestations that they really should.
The waiter enthusiastically informed me that the reason my meal was taking slightly longer was because they were preparing something very special for me, It was clear that they’d simply forgotten my order and he was trying to cover up their mistake. After all, Sean had ordered the exact same meal and his had arrived with everyone else’s. If my meal was more special than Sean’s, even though he had ordered the same thing, it would be a bit of a slap in the face for Sean and everyone else, baring in mind that they’d had to wait for mine to arrive, meaning that I got an hot extra special meal while everyone else ate an inferior cold meal. There seemed no reason or logic why I would be given an extra special meal, unless the waiter was a fan of David’s Daily Digital Dollop, in which case I suppose that’s perfectly understandable.
I tried again to insist that the others started their meals. Michael and Sean had already started, as they knew that I’d genuinely prefer it if they did, but everyone else in our party refused to start until my meal arrived. I tried explaining that it was more polite of them to start than to wait, as waiting was merely making me feel guilty and awkward. But they politely just kept saying, “no, it’s OK, we don’t mind, we’ll wait.”
How annoyingly stupidly British these people were being. My nan bread had already arrived, and I was eating that, which I was perfectly happy to have as a starter, in fact I normally eat the nan first anyway, so the wait wasn’t really inconveniencing me at all. I was happy to drink my pint, eat some nan and chat while the others ate. But still they refused to eat. It got to the point where I was begging people to eat, but they still refused, out of some warped version of politeness which they were mercilessly battering me with.
Eventually my meal arrived. Sean and I did a comparison. They both tasted exactly the same, only mine was hot. I wonder who’s meal was more enjoyable. I had a freshly cooked hot meal, but was unable to properly enjoy it as I was aware that everyone was now eating cold food that had been sat there for fifteen minutes, and thus I felt massively guilty, even though I’d tried to convince them to eat. However, they might have been eating cold food, but they were no doubt doing so while basking in their self-satisfied smugness.
After the meal, the waiter came back and asked us how everything was. I decided to pretend that I’d believed his story about my meal being more special than the others. I profusely thanked him for the extra effort he’d put in. Unless he was prepared to admit that he’d been lying before about the special meal, he’d be forced to keep up the pretence. I enthusiastically asked him to tell me more about my meal, and how it differed to Sean’s. I could tell that he was starting to regret his dishonesty. I don’t think he was quite sure whether I knew he was lying and that I was winding him up. I asked him loads of questions about how the meal differed. He said that he’d used some special spices. I then asked him why he’d chosen me as the special one. His energy, composure and enthusiasm was starting to falter. I wanted to keep going to see if I could make him crack and admit that he’d been lying, but some of the people around the table were starting to get uncomfortable, so I left it. Yet again, politeness had spoiled the fun.
This Dollop has been the most rushed and difficult one to write so far. But if it’s a bit rubbish, hopefully you will be too polite to say so.