The Waiter Chronicles: Just Deserts

Last Saturday night a group of four young, energetic people came in for dinner at around 8:30. They ordered bottles of wine, laughed a lot, and were generally a pleasure to serve. As I went to clear their empty entree plates, one of the young men very respectfully held up a short piece of silver wire for me to see and said, "I just thought you should know I found this in my ravioli."

I stared at it aghast.

He suggested that it was a piece from a kitchen scrub brush, and he insisted that he didn't want his meal comped. I couldn't just let it go, so I offered the table free desert. They declined, saying, "Next time."

Right. Like there would be a next time. Would you return to a restaurant that served you Brillo Pad with your pasta?

Well, tonight, half the party returned. I recognized them right away, and, even though neither of them were the offended party from last weekend, when the time came I offered the whole table free desert. I didn't go into details.

The result: one creme brulee, one pumpkin ice cream, and one 22% tip.

The only question is, what do I do if the other half of the scrub-brush party comes back?