§ 304 A Well-Merited Rebuke
“Vaiter, vaiter, here vaiter—gif me some addension, uf you blease!”
The gentleman rapped with impatient knuckles on the table top. At his call, a servitor came hurrying to his side.
The scene was a Yiddish restaurant in Grand Street on New York’s East Side. The hour was the luncheon hour. The speaker was a heavily bearded person who had just made his entrance. All about him conveyed the idea that here was a business man in a rush.
“Vaiter,” he said, “you should right avay bring me a knife und a fork und a napkin und a blate; ulso ein glass water. Und make it snappy!”
The waiter, somewhat puzzled, produced the articles called for, then stood by awaiting the order. To his surprise the patron waved him back and then before his astounded eyes drew from one coat-pocket a knuckle of rye bread and from the other a pickled herring and proceeded to make a light but satisfying meal.
Ablaze with indignation the waiter spun on his heel and dashed away to find the proprietor.
“See that guy yonder?” he said, pointing toward the bewhiskered one. “Well, of all the scalded nerve ever I seen in my life—say, you know what that guy done, boss? He come in here a minute ago and made me fetch him a set of feedin’ tools and then, be gee, he hauled out his own chow and started eatin’. Ain’t you goin’ to give him a call-down?”
“I certainly am,” stated the owner. He ranged up alongside the offender.
“Say,” he demanded with terrific sarcasm, “wot kind of a place do you think I’m runnin’ here, anyway?”
The stranger looked up from his repast:
“Vell,” he said calmly, “since you ask me, I got to dell you—der service here iss rotten! Ulso, for why ain’t der orchestra playing?”