We ordered cocktails first, then wine, then dinner, then dessert. The slow way, piano, piano. We leaned in to talk, using table voices out of courtesy and restraint. It felt like the night was proceeding as intended.
Then the couple beside us arrived.
He was loud immediately, as if offended by the restaurant itself. He spoke in a thick accent I couldn’t place and complained about everything. The wine was wrong. The temperature was wrong. The utensils were wrong. Each complaint grew more theatrical than the last. He sent dishes back with flourishes, performing dissatisfaction like a party trick. His date—American, pretty, and visibly shrinking—stared into her glass as if hoping to disappear into it.
I assumed this was his idea of charm. Some men confuse arrogance with respect. She looked mortified. The room began to listen, despite itself.
When the bill arrived, he made a show of that too. Voices rose. Gestures expanded. The waiter remained calm, professional, almost serene. Then came the line none of us were prepared for.
The man announced, loudly, that the sausages were “too sexual.”
My date and I nearly spit out our drinks. Around us, a few diners froze mid-bite. The waiter paused and asked why he had eaten them if that was the case. The room broke out laughing, unchecked and merciless.
The man flushed, paid his bill, and left with his date in tow, his authority tarnished beyond repair.
The restaurant settled back into itself, pleased and slightly drunk on satisfaction. Candle flames steadied. Conversations resumed.
My date leaned in and smiled. She said she hadn’t been expecting a show.
~ By Giovanni Di Napoli, February 13th, Feast of Beata Beatrice di Ornacieu
