I went for indian with fossefox last night at one of the most neurotic restaurants you'll ever find.

for starters, they kept mopping off our table (when it wasn't unclean, spilled, becrumbed, anything).

then they brought everything all at once and insisted on rearranging the table in this meth-head, OCD kind of "every plate must form exactly a 90 degree angle with every other plate - oh wait, plates are round and can't be at 90 degree angles to each other - twitch twitch twitch" kind of way.

also, over the course of our 45 minutes-to-an hour there, we must have had 9 different waitrons, bussers, hosts, hostesses, and cup bearers.

toward the end, waitron #8 (whom we'd never seen before) came by and asked if we wanted dessert. we said no. 30 seconds later, waitron #9 (also never seen before) came by and asked if we wanted dessert. we said no. 30 seconds later, waitrons #8 and 9 both showed up with a plate of ice cream which they said we were welcome to - on the house! well for my part, I hate ice cream, but fossefox was a good sport and ate it. within 10 seconds of finishing it, waitron #9 dropped like a fucking stealth fighter from the clear blue sky and grabbed the empty plate and spoon out of her barely-stopped-moving hands.

on the way out, I left my newspaper on my chair.
just to fuck with them.