I waitressed at an event for a friend tonight.
Just after the soup, and just before the main, a man got my attention.
“Is there garlic in the dinner?”
“No,” I told him. “I don’t think there is.”
“Can you go check?” he asked. “I really can’t have garlic.”
So I went and checked.. There was no garlic in the main (steak and kidney pie, if you’re wondering).
“There’s no garlic,” I confirmed. “None at all.”
“Good,” he said. “I would DIE if there was. Seriously. I woud be dead. On the floor. DEAD. That is how allergic I am to garlic. INSTANT DEATH!”
This worried me a little bit, so I double checked back in the kitchen.
“Are you sure there isn’t garlic in the food? Only a man out there says he’ll die if he eats it.”
My friend rolled her eyes and sighed.
“No, there is definitely no… OH GOD THERE WAS GARLIC IN THE SOUP.”
We stared at each other in horror before I ran out to tell the unlucky diner.
“Sir, I’m really sorry – there was garlic in the soup – do you need me to call someone?”
“Oh God,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “Oh dear! Well…. that’s not good.”
I hung around for a bit anxiousy, but then I realised he was not dying. He wasn’t even ill.
He was just a fusspot.
Or a really annoyed vampire.