It's Cheese in the Shape of a Plate...

A customer I was waiting on asked me “What’s a cheese plate?” This stopped me in my tracks. Not just the question but the alarming amount of attitude that went with it. What am I missing here and why is she looking at me like I have three heads?

“What is a cheese plate?”

Not “what kind of cheese is on the cheese plate,” but “what IS it?”
Ok, I’m going in...

I find it is a delicate process trying to preserve someone’s dignity when they ask a truly stupid question. It takes a certain social nicety to make them feel somehow justified in their stupidity but educate them at the same time. Not making someone FEEL stupid when they so clearly are, is really an art form. I’m really good at it. I really don’t like people to feel uncomfortable (I’ve been this way since childhood) so I go out of my way to accommodate them. Also, my tip depends on the fact that they like me.

Now, I feel compelled to add that this 40 something woman appears to be clean and decently put together (personally, I would have added a little pizazz to my outfit for a birthday party at a hip restaurant, but I digress). How she could have arrived at this point in her life without ever having a cheese plate is beyond me. However, even more alarming is the fact that she lacked the deductive capacity to try and figure it out.

So, I explain the idea of a cheese plate and describe what is on ours in detail but without sounding condescending.

There is a long silence. I’ve really done my best here and she’s the idiot, so I just stare at her. I start to think that she’s probably too stupid to understand my stare, withering as it is, and just thinks we are all trying to understand the concept of cheese on a plate together.

“What is the soup”

Uh oh.

“Gazpacho.”

“What is that?”

“Cold, tomato, blah blah blah”

“The soup is COLD???” Again, like I’M some kind of weirdo.

“Do you have anything normal?”

Even I have a limit.
“Yeah, I’m not really sure what you mean.” And I stare at her.
I feel staring in lieu of snarkiness will somehow still preserve my tip.

At this point she looks at the menu, shakes her head, and says:

“This is like a weird dream”

It is truly all I can do to keep from saying “For me too, dum dum. For me too”

You have got to be kidding me.