going to work not to work

My mum came to Paris for the weekend. During the two short days she is here she wanted to have dinner at the restaurant where I work, because my brother and sister and my grandparents have been too. So, when she booked her flight I booked us a table.

Last night we came home after long day of shopping and got changed to go out. When we arrived the place was already buzzing and busy. I took the reservation board from the table and we sat down. Like always I translated the menu, except this time into Finnish rather than into English.

Our barman looked stressed. “What are you drinking?” he asked. “Nothing, you haven’t given us anything.” We got two glasses of red wine. He ran down to the cellar and I started to feel like I should do something. Our starters arrived. To food was as good as I had been told it is.

When waiting for the main course I really started to get frustrated because it was pretty obvious that the evening was turning into a chaos. I got us another two glasses of wine from the bar – no point waiting for a waitress. After we had finished our main courses there was a chair free at the bar and my mum sat down to enjoy her desert there. Our table was given to the first couple inline for a table. I was given a cloth.

I stood there drying glasses. Excellent. We got some more whine – a bit better. I got a dry towel and our barman started to relax a bit. I got a chair – an upgrade. I chatted with my mum and with the regulars. It was like any other night, except this time I was on the wrong side of the bar and wearing heels. When the evening started to slow down we decided it was time to head home. Yet another night there was over. “See you tomorrow.”

The food was stunning and the wine excellent as always. We had a great dinner, but still…in that place, I prefer to be on “my side” of the bar.