Features of interest

Today was my first day back at work after my two week holiday, and although I didn't make any huge mistakes, I really had to watch myself with the VIPs that we had in. That sounds more exciting than it is, because a lot of our VIPs are just old couples that come in every single day, or the people that supply our coffee and cakes, but today we actually did have some (reasonably) interesting diners.
One of the other waitresses came over to me and whispered that apparently there was a famous footballer in the cafe, and our boss was really excited. Since she didn't know who he was, I didn't think much of it, but when I turned around, I was nearly cut in half by this;

Paul Gallen's nose. My friend may not have known who he was, but I've spent enough State of Origins yelling at him to recognise him by that feature alone, instantly. Up close, it looks so much worse; it's like a small mountain range in the middle of his face. Despite my anger at him for having missed so many important conversions over the years, I was super careful with all the meals I carried past his table, especially the ones on wooden boards, because goodness knows, the last thing he needed was another broken nose; though a collision would have been a good segue into asking how to believably act like a pansy, or if he could possibly use his newly discovered contortion skills to improve his playing this year (minus the urination part.) Considering that I wanted to keep my job, I decided that asking would not be the best life decision, and kept my mouth shut.

Speaking of poor life decisions, we had a guy come in today (not a VIP, just a regular guy,) with nothing particularly interesting about him. Exiting huh? That's what we all thought, until he turned to leave, and we could see the tattoo on the back of his neck. Innegotiable. Innegotiable. Even though our wait staff then had a debate over the correct prefix (non-negotiable, of course,) all of us knew that that was not a word. And it was innegotiable that he would ever be able to claim any grasp over the English language, ever again. 

This tattoo sent me googling similar ink catastrophes in my lunch break, and this has got to be one of my favourites. 

I know it's not the funniest mistake out there, but honestly, how do you mix up 'fudge' and 'judge?' Whether it was the tattoo artists fault for not being able to distinguish between capitol letters, or the subjects weird belief that God is the greatest baker in the universe, it's not the fudge I'd be worried about, but ironically, the judgement. 

Our second VIP for the day was the Commando, who comes in quite often with his two kids, and even occasionally lets them eat pancakes. Today was not one of those days. As he picked through his salad, he didn't look to be enjoying life at all, and it got me wondering if perhaps being fitter than everyone else makes you lonely and sad, or if having lots of muscles makes you extremely pensive. Then his ex wife walked through the door and it all made sense. Not only did he have to deal with her loudly asking the kids if they were enjoying their time with daddy, and were they looking forward to coming home to mummy, but as the kids came back inside from waving goodbye to her, his son (who could only be four or five,) launched himself at his father's backside and wedged his face firmly between its cheeks, yelling "bummy smell!" I wonder if this child is going to exhibit developmental difficulties. Needless to say, they left pretty quickly afterwards.

I then completed my shift by spilling Nutella thick shake all over the napkins as I wrapped them, and had to quickly rotate the soiled ones to the bottom and back of the pile before I got in trouble. No-one will ever know right? That's what I thought.
                                                                            Xx,
                                                                                    Little Duck