Satire

As a waitress at a high-end, top of the line barbeque restaurant, by the name of Smokin’ Dick’s (no, it’s not a gay bar) I feel I am very well versed in the finer details of customer service. Upon arriving in Italy, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the Italian waiters had these essential service skills down pat. In fact, I even picked up a new trick – Italian waiters have a special glare reserved for customers who even think about getting out the plastic, it works like a charm. In general, though, I thought I had the waitressing thing down, until the night I met Guido.

It was a typical Sunday in Rome, the sun was shining, and the Campo was filled with the screams of small children being eaten by pigeons. As evening rolled around, I started to get hungry. I decided to be adventurous and make myself some pasta (mmm, pasta). Tragedy struck, though, when I unscrewed the top of my jar of sauce. Instead of the cheery bright red of fresh-pressed tomatoes, the greeny-white fuzz of old man mold glared angrily back at me. With a sigh, I tossed the jar and set out to a quaint little Italian restaurant I’d heard good things about.

The good reviews were entirely justified. The interior was lit with soft lighting, blending with the dust on the walls to create a golden haze. Small tea lights were placed on each table, providing just enough light to see the napkins, but not enough to see if they were clean. My tea light went out before the entrée even arrived, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise, for it left the lump that was my meal shrouded in forgiving darkness. Squinting at my paper menu, I found Italian translated into English. The catch? The important words were changed back into Italian. It was like babelfish gone bad, but I decided on the meat with “cosi special” sauce.

Decision made, I tried to make eye contact with the waiter. This is where his excellent skills first became apparent. Ducking his head, turning sideways, even blinking when he got desperate, he was able to avoid acknowledging me for a good twenty minutes. I’ve only managed ten, and that was once, on a good day. Judging by the bored expressions at the tables around me, this fellow seemed to have ignoring the customer down to a science. Finally, he nonchalantly sauntered over to my table, slapped the flimsy wine list down on the table, and turned to walk away. As he turned, the dying flicker of my candle lit up his grungy plastic nametag which read: Ciao! Mi chiamo Guido! Stomach grumbling in hunger, I blurted out in desperation, “Guido! Wait!” The look of disgust on his face as he turned back was exquisite. I immediately felt guilty for interrupting his carefully structured routine. Stammering, I ordered my drink, appetizer and entrée. With a bored nod of acceptance, he walked back to the bar to chat with the bartender.

Hours passed, and my drink finally arrived. Bubbly aqua naturale. His attention to detail was phenomenal. When I tried to remedy the mistake, he replied with a shrug and a “no inglese.” With a sigh, I sipped my drink, hoping my appetizer would arrive soon. No such luck. A few hours later, he slouched his was over to my table, two plates balance precariously on his arm. As he plopped them down in front of me, the artfully constructed cheese towers fell into disarray, while the lump of meat in the cosi special sauce wobbled alarmingly, threatening to leap off the table and into my lap. Avoiding eye contact, he hurried back to the bar. Tentatively, I prodded the meat with my fork. Nothing happened. So far, so good. Taking my first bite, I understood why he had walked away so fast; it was horribly spicy. Mouth burning, I downed the bubbly, but to no avail. Desperate to quench the fire, I grabbed a piece of cheese. The pungent taste drowned out the spice, but left my mouth tasting like old gym socks. Luckily, the portions weren’t large, even by Italian standards, so I was able to force it down pretty quickly. Miserable, I tried to flag Guido down for my check. After several failed attempts (he really was skilled) I stood and waved. With a puzzled look on his face, he meandered his way over to my table. I asked for the check, he gave me a disdainful look, then went to get it.

When he returned, I had my card at the ready. I was ready to go. I tried to hand it to him, he just looked at me. Pushing it insistently towards him, I learned the full effects of the Italian glare. Eyes slightly narrowed, lips curved into a disdainful sneer, he just stood, staring. I tried, I held out as long as I could, but he finally wore me down. Defeated, I reached for my cash. With a victorious smirk, he strutted off to get my change.

Walking out the door, I was in awe. This man was a master. His attention to detail, concern for customer satisfaction, promptness and ability to indefinitely ignore the customer was amazing. Reaching my hand into my pocket to grab some gelato money, I found he had even managed to shortchange me by a whole three euro. Shaking my head in admiration, I realized that I was but a neophyte in the waiting game. This man, this Guido, with his mafia name, exceptional skills and debonair smirk was truly great. I still have much to learn before I can ever hope to serve with his level of condescension, obliviousness and stubbornness.

Writing Journal

Why did you choose the character(s) you did for this assignment?

I chose to satirize Italian waiters and American waiters because they approach customer service from two completely different angles. As a waitress, the customer service here drives me nuts, it goes against everything I’ve learned. I thought it would be fun to poke a little fun at myself for this, and at the Italian waiters since their service really is just plain bad.

What was the most challenging part of writing a satirical piece?

The most challenging part of this, for me, was trying to show, develop a character and satirize at the same time. Also, keeping the satire going for three pages was hard, it took quite a bit of effort for me to stay in that mocking tone throughout the piece. I think I did end up dropping it a few times, but it’s not a style I usually write in.

Is your character “round” or “flat”?

My narrator is a flattish round type of character. She does change, she loses her cockiness about her own skills, but all of the turmoil is centered around this one event. The other aspects of her personality aren’t very well filled out, but I didn’t think it was especially important to this story. My Italian waiter is definitely flat. He remains static throughout the piece.

Did you return to Twain’s excerpt while developing your own satirical piece?

I didn’t return to his work too much, but I did keep some of the aspects in mind. I tried to mimic the way he indirectly satirized the narrator through their comments and interactions with other characters. I also tried to move the satire around a plot, instead of criticizing a set piece or timeframe.