My buddy Lou Santini says that when you "say the word 'boob,' you can't help but to smile." Well, when you see one pop out of a woman's dress sitting in your section at a restaurant, you can't help but giggle your ass off.
That's right. An unintentional, non-breast feeding, in-your-face boob popped out to say "hello," and I was there to wave "hello" back. But let's not rush into this. I am still under fire from co-workers about what should have been said during the ordeal, so let me present all of the evidence, and let you guys pass down judgement.
A husband and wife are seated in my section. I heard some sort of accent, so I think that they are European. The husband is looking at the cocktail menu as I approach the table to greet them.
"Welcome. How are you doing this evening?" I said.
"Hello." The husband muttered. "I want champagne. What would you recommend?"
At this point, I went into my usual script of dry and sweet champagnes and sparkling wines that we offer by the glass. The husband places his order, and I turn to his wife who is still looking over her husband's shoulder to read the cocktail menu. (I could go into the whole argument that the husband ordered before his wife, but that would take away from the meat... [ahem]... of this blog.)
"And what may I offer you to drink?" I say with as much faux sincerity as possible.
"I want something sweet." She says. But then I notice that the right side of her dress is much more "flowy" and less full than the left side. Because the right side of her dress has been pinned down by her right BOOB! No bra. No exterior armor. Just one of the girls coming out to play.
I have worked in the service industry for many years. From The Four Seasons, and The Beverly Hills Hotels, to Wolfgang Puck... none of the training I have had prepared me for the professional thing to say or do. The only thing that kept coming to mind was, "BOOBIES!" But what made it worse, was that the woman had absolutely no idea that her boob was out and about. I'm looking around for my other co-workers to see if they are looking at this car crash, fumbling with my pad of paper, all while trying to wipe the stupid grin off of my face. I had to focus my attention back on the husband, who also had absolutely no idea that one of his wife's mammary glands was taking a breather. (At this point, the food runner did see what was going on, and he informed me that I was beet red, and had a huge smile on my face.)
"Is the Lychee Martini sweet?" The wife asked, still naively questioning me about drinks.
"It is sweet." I answered, looking down at the table, up at the ceiling, basically anywhere but the direction of the woman. "Perhaps you might like to try the cocktail of the day? The "Slippery Nipple."
"No. I think I'll get champagne too. It's too early for Martinis. I don't want to get too crazy yet."
Her right boob is way ahead of her. "I'll be back with your champagnes. And I'll adjust the AC. I can see it's getting a bit chilly."
I get their drinks. Return to the table, and sure enough, the woman covered herself with a shawl. I don't know if they knew that I knew. But I knew. Some of my co-workers told me that I should have told the woman about her "wardrobe malfunction." What the hell was I supposed to say?
"Psst! Ahem! Ma'am, you want to holster that breast? If you don't put it away, I'll have to charge you a corkage fee." I believe I handled it correctly.
I usually attach some sort of picture to coincide with my blog, but in keeping within FCC regulations, the fact that my mom reads my blog, and to leave something to your imagination, this post will not have a pic. And I just noticed that this is the longest blog I have written to date. What can I say? I've got something to say about BOOBIES!
Until next time... Server's don't pay their rent with compliments.
"Bitter. Party of one? Your table is ready."
The Bitter Bistro