True Twin or Fickle Friend
by Rick Haynes
Part 1 – The Waiters
The flight was long, boring, and you’re tired, but you smile, for yesterday was gone and today is a fresh start. It is time to shed the coat of servitude, and to be the master, allowing others to adhere to your every whim whilst you dance to the tune of sunshine and relaxation for the next two weeks.
Your holiday has begun.
You sit on the beach, the waters caressing your feet like velvet slippers. With both eyes closed, you carefully map out the next fourteen days inside your head. A huge sigh escapes you, involuntary, but your plan is now complete.
“What can I get you, beautiful lady?”
His voice drips like a tap you can’t turn off.
“A large glass of fresh orange juice please.”
“You wanna help me squeeze the oranges?”
He oozes insincerity from every pore, but you dismiss his attitude. You have too, as nothing, or no one, is going to ruin the first day of your vacation.
You look the waiter straight in the eye and give him the rhino look just before it charges. That would stop any normal man, but not this one, for his skin is as thick as your rhinoceros and his heart as black as the night.
Leaving is easy, for you get up, and walk away, telling yourself that you will never return.
Another walk along the beach, another seat, and another waiter materializes. He is polite, efficient and knows his place. Soft liquid soon falls down your eager throat as you slowly sip the orange nectar.
“May I get you anything else?” His voice is deep like the ocean, yet can be gentle like the surf brushing your toes. You chat. He is subservient, easily pandering to your every wish. The setting sun is showering the sea with rays of gold and ochre, and you daydream of a knight in shining armour.
Yet inside, doubts bubble up to surface inside your brain, for is he simply another womanizer in a different guise?
Part 2 – The Reality
As you can see I’ve painted two very different pictures here, yet I’ve witnessed both scenarios many times during my frequent travels to the Mediterranean region of Europe.
Some waiters prey on women like a lion hunting down an impala, but only sex with their victim is on the menu.
Waiters also prey on men, but persuading them to part with as much cash as possible is their priority now. They know how easy it is to give out a couple of free drinks, naturally highly potent, and wallets are quickly emptied.
Young girls, and young boys, are gullible, and on holiday inhibitions disappear faster than soap suds down a sink. They want a good time and party hard, but tomorrow’s headache is often a massive wake up call to reality.
I can hear the groans, and the screaming, but don’t kill the storyteller, as I’m telling you the way that it is, but read on, for you may be surprised.
Lest we forget, waiters are human beings, and clearly not all are the predators that I have portrayed.
Seeing a youngster or oldster in distress is never pleasant, but locals rushing to assist are commonplace. Waiters are often the first to help, especially with calling for medical assistance and first aid. Cracking jokes, translating documents, even arranging taxis, I’ve seen their patience and their smiles through adversary.
Waiters are a much-maligned profession, and sometimes that reputation is justified, but alternatively, I’ve seen the other side of their nature.
So take care, don’t be fooled by some smarmy chat, but enjoy a laugh and a joke with someone who genuinely wants to help you choose your perfect meal and wine.
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