“What was the steak special again?” the birdish uptight lady on table twelve asks.
“It’s a sixteen ounce ribeye steak in a cognac peppercorn cream sauce,” I reply.
“Can I get the steak without the sauce?”
“Of course Madam.”
“And how much is the ribeye?”
“If I don’t get the sauce will it be cheaper?”
I successfully resist the urge to roll my eyes. “No Madam,” I reply. “The price will remain the same.”
“Why won’t you lower the price?” the woman asks sharply. I give her my politest shrug.
“Now that I think about,” the woman says, after a long awkward pause, “I’ll have a chicken caesar salad instead.”
“Very good Madam.”
I escape from the table before the woman tries haggling over her $15.95 salad. Man, you can’t make this stuff up.