Lemons and Oranges

Apples and oranges, or lemons and oranges in this case.

I usually adhere to the man-law of not “fruiting” a beer and only do so when forced to drink Mexican sewer water (hey, love Modelo, no lime) and to serve it as well.

However, being both a waiter and a bar tender for the last several years I do know what fruit comes with what beer and I stick to local customs. That was when I was dismayed when a table had a near fascist attack on me for allegedly fruiting their beer incorrectly.

Well actually it was 100% correct and the knowledge that I have and keep of fruiting the beer is in the part of who I am that is correct 99% of the time, the other 1% being my negligence in the relationship department, which at times I begrudgingly admit that I may be wrong.

So I was delivering a Boulevard Wheat beer with a wedge of lemon as is customary when a gentleman at the table had an inquiry…

“Hey, where’s my orange at?” He asked, clearly perturbed. He then threw his lemon wedge on the ground (we were on the patio, but hey, only an asshole would do that, yes I mean guy who is reading this and would do something like that).

“Sir if you would like an orange all you have to do is ask.” I said, clearly annoyed at his manner, and the fact that I was only halfway though a double shift.

“This was supposed to come with an orange.” He said, nearly pouting, his sense of self importance clearly damaged.

“Traditionally we serve this wheat beer with a lemon, if you’d like an orange I’ll bring you one.”

I said.

“No, no, I suppose it will have to do, but this is supposed to be served with an orange,” He said, looking at me as if I was to acknowledge my grievous error.

“Sir, Belgian whites are often served with an orange, such as a Blue Moon.” I said. I would never drink one with an orange myself as they ruin the head and change the flavor too much for my liking.

Time passed, and I serve up their salads and dinners, modified beyond recognition so much that you could never match them to an item on the written menu.

“Sir, another beer?” I asked, keeping it short and sweet.

“Yes, and don’t forget the orange this time.” He said, still defending his fruiting righteousness.

“Of course, I’ll substitute an orange for you.” I responded.

His response was only a dour face, such as a child gets when denied a second glass of soda by their parents, guess most of you don’t practice that anymore either considering the hopped up caffeine freak children that run around my restaurant. Well at least Starbucks won’t be concerned about keeping their product viable for the next generation knowing our children will be wanting to continue getting their kicks from that speed freak of a coffee-bean mutant on their backs.

I digress, again…

“Maybe you should bring him two oranges, being as you didn’t bring him one earlier.” His wife said haughtily.

I responded with a blank stare back.

Of course the wife was fruiting her Pepsi and demanded another one with her next breath.

Here’s were I slipped up, most soda fruiters use lemon with diet, she had a regular.

I poured her a Diet when I was waiting at the service station for the beers.

I dropped off their drinks and turned around to greet a new table.

“Folks, would you care for a nice chardonnay or a martini to…” I started to say.

“Sir! Sir! SIR!!!” The woman with the soda started to shriek. You’d think the Rape of Nan8king was going on in her granny panties.

I turned around and stopped her conniption with one hand raised, stop-sign fashion.

I returned to my new customers and finished my greeting and took their drink order before taking my attention back to my other friends.

“This is a DIET!” The woman said as she thrust her glass to me.

“I’m sorry, I must have poured you the wrong one.” I said.

“I can’t drink diet, it makes me PHYSICALLY sick!” She shouted back.

“Ma’am, its easily fixed, really.” I said calmly.

“Whatever, just take it out of here,” She said.

I returned with her replaced drink.

"I told you it was a diet,” She said, satisfied that she knew I made a mistake.

“Like I said, easily fixed.” I said as I set it down.

“Oh he has a question.” She said as well, pointing at her mid-twenty something son.

“Yeah, when you brought me my beer you didn’t ask me if I wanted an orange too.” He said.

“Of course.”

Of course…