The Blowhard Part II: Salad Daze

This is the second entry in a series dedicated to a particularly loathsome customer known as The Blowhard.  The stage is set, the act is about to begin.  Come along.  I've saved you a front-row seat for a little drama I like to call . . .

SALAD DAZE

by The Restaurant


CAST OF CHARACTERS

SERVER, a handsome, level-headed young man never prone to fits of anger.

BLOWHARD, a pompous ass in a remarkably distasteful bowling shirt with a modified argyle design.

UNFORTUNATELY-COMPLECTED WOMAN, an aging woman with skin like cottage cheese, the wife or significant other of the Blowhard.

TURD, the grubby, college-aged, dim bulb son of the Blowhard.

YOUNG WOMAN, a polite, reasonably attractive young woman who has somehow become entangled with the Blowhard’s band of miscreants.  The date or girlfriend of the Turd.

***

SETTING, the dining room of a Japanese restaurant.  It is near closing time.  The cloth napkins stand firmly on the empty tables.  Candles flicker in the elegant atmosphere.

With the bulk of the propaganda painting himself to be every bit a brilliant as Larry David behind him, the Blowhard and company have begun to eat the sushi that the server has recently set on the table.  The diners begin to tear into the sushi with the abandon of starved hogs at a freshly-slopped trough

SERVER:  Does everybody have everything they need at the moment?

BLOWHARD (mouth full of food):  Yes.

UNFORTUNATELY-COMPLECTED WOMAN (mouth full of food):  Uh-huh.

SERVER:  We're about to close in a few minutes, so I wanted to make sure I couldn't get you anything else tonight.  More sushi, another drink, dessert . . . anything at all.

BLOWHARD (mouth full of food):  Uh.  I think were all right.

SERVER:  Then I can't get you anything for last call?

BLOWHARD (mouth full of food):  No.

The feast continues, the likes of which to witness would cause one an immediate loss of appetite.  Five minutes pass.  The server moves to and fro about the room, performing his closing duties.

BLOWHARD (mouth full of food):  Excuse me.  Can we get another beer?

SERVER:  I’m sorry.  We’re closed.

BLOWHARD (mouth full of food):  Really?  So you can’t get me another beer?

SERVER:  No, I’m afraid not.

BLOWHARD (mouth full of food):  Is it against the rules or something?

SERVER (actually not sure about the rules or laws, but entirely sure that he is fed up with the Blowhard and his loathsome party):  I can’t serve alcohol after we close.

BLOWHARD:  Huh.  That’s strange.  I’ve owned several restaurants and I’ve never . . .

The server begins to set up the table behind the Blowhard and company.  He is able to overhear their continued conversation.

TURD:  Wow, dad.  What are you going to do?

BLOWHARD:  What can you do?   Why let the little things get to you?  I once heard a very wise man say something to this effect.  Don’t sweat the small stuff.  You go to bed, you wake up, and tomorrow’s another day.  I’m not going to let one little beer ruin everything.

TURD: Gee, dad.

BLOWHARD:  It seems to me it’s a matter of hospitality.  You’re in business to keep people happy, are you not?  If a customer wants a beer, you bring him a beer.  Rules be damned.  This reminds me of a story that takes place years ago, when I was working as a busboy for a local country club.  We had hard, fast rules against serving anything after the kitchen closed.  But there was one customer who wanted a salad.  I couldn’t get him this salad, I told him.  My hands were tied.  But I could see a look in the man’s eyes.  It was like he really wanted this salad.  I’ve never seen a man want a salad so bad in all my life.  Not before, not since.  So you know what I did?

All member of the Blowhard’s party wait with bated breath.

TURD:  What did you do, dad?

BLOWHARD:  I got him the salad.

Gasps from the Blowhard’s party.

UNFORTUNATELY-COMPLECTED WOMAN:  You didn’t.

BLOWHARD:  I did.

TURD:  Wow, dad.  What happened?

BLOWHARD:  I was fired.

Even louder gasps from the Blowhard’s party.

TURD: You were?

BLOWHARD:  Yes I was, Turd.

UNFORTUNATELY-COMPLECTED WOMAN:  Well, you obviously didn’t let that stop you from being a successful lawyer . . . And a piss-poor imitation of Larry David to boot.  I mean you’ve nailed the asshole side of the character he created dead on, but you somehow managed to suck every last ounce of funny out of his shtick.

BLOWHARD:  But I got the job back.  The next day.

TURD (amazed):  You did?

BLOWHARD:  Yes, I did, Turd.  The very next day the manager took me into his office and offered me my job back.  On the condition that I was never to serve food after closing again.

TURD: Wow.

UNFORTUNATELY-COMPLECTED WOMAN: What did you do?

BLOWHARD:  I took it.  But I said that there’s no way I would stop serving food after closing, that I would do it EVERY NIGHT if the customers wanted it.

Turd guffaws.

TURD (in utter disbelief):  You did?

BLOWHARD:  Absolutely I did.

TURD (clapping in a monkey-like fashion): Dad, you are too much.

BLOWHARD:  Ain’t I though? 

YOUNG WOMAN:  What did your boss say?

BLOWHARD:  He said that he admired my pluck and he was lucky to have a busboy such as myself on board and that the cut of my jib was such that it was sure to take me far in life.

TURD:  Wow.  Like, wow.

BLOWHARD:  Anyway, it all comes back to my original point.  I don’t understand why someone would want to run a business that doesn’t please the customer.  Be it a salad or a beer after closing, if a customer wants it, he should have it.  It’s a matter of hospitality.

The Unfortunately-Complected woman exits.  From offstage a shrill hissy fit can be heard.  Moments later she returns triumphantly carrying one small bottle of Sapporo beer, her face a bumpy rictus of triumph.


BLOWHARD (impressed): Ho, ho.  Look at this.

TURD:  What did you do?

UNFORTUNATELY-COMPLECTED WOMAN:  I complained to the manager.

Victorious, she replenishes the Blowhard’s glass and her own with six ounces each of the most mediocre beer Japan has to offer.

Lights out.

The Blowhard, An American Hero