Page 40 - The Gluckman Occasional Number Eight

Mine did not pass inspection. She pointed to a sink on the side
of the room, next to a dim hallway down both sides of which
were several doors. It struck me idly that the eatery must have
private dining rooms. Playing along, I dutifully went to wash up.
But the soap was one of those borax-based powders I had
thought long unavailable. I advise sparing use of this substance: it
is extremely abrasive. Far better to show up with clean hands—
including your nails, as mine warranted a return trip to the basin
and its very stiff bristle brush. The only towel available is used in
common by all diners and is equally tough on your skin. You can
add the cost of a manicure to your tab.
Well, once approved by this forbidding gatekeeper, I was
admitted to the dining room. It had one long table around which
we dozen or so patrons had to sit. Yet another stern older
woman pointed to one of the unoccupied uncushioned ladder-
back wooden chairs. I took it and tried to get comfortable. The
seat was uneven and the legs were too long, so I had some
difficulty. I stole a glance at my fellow diners and they were
silently and stealthily squirming, seemingly to arrive at a decent
posture without attracting attention. I soon learned why.
I had been watching the unpleasant female assigning seats and
hadn’t noticed the other restaurant staff member in the room—
not until he yelled at me from about a foot behind my head. “Sit
up straight!” I reacted immediately, of course, freezing stiffly
upright until my sacroiliac was about to go into spasm. The man,
who was about seven feet tall and imprinted with a permanent
scowl, walked slowly around the table barking commands at
errant customers: “Stop fidgeting!” “Don’t talk unless you’re
spoken to!” “Wipe that stupid grin off your face!”
I never saw a menu; but of course, there wasn’t one. The places
were set with very large heavy plates and silverware. The napkin
was flimsy and a glass of some liquid looked very unstable,
jiggling every time the table moved even slightly. It had to have
been well past 5:30, but still we waited for service. I felt certain
that if I looked at my watch censure would have been swift and
severe. At last the chief harpy disappeared through double doors
which must have led to a kitchen. As she did so, a disgusting
odor wafted into the room. It rang a long-dormant bell: cabbage
boiled mercilessly in vinegar.