Yesterday at work, I thought I poisoned someone. For a brief second it seemed as if I was going to have to use my years of watching St. Elsewhere, Grey’s Anatomy and General Hospitalto cull together some type of medical rescue. A woman at table 15 practically went into anaphylactic shock when she tasted a bottle of wine she ordered and found it to be “horrific.” What a fucking drama queen.
She wanted to order a bottle of red but she had a friend at the table who didn’t like red so it was a bit of a challenge. The lady informed me she was a wine representative so apparently she knew every thing there ever was to know about the fermented grape. She was intent upon discovering a bottle of red that her friend could tolerate. Personally, I thought they should order a bottle of red for the three of them and let the one person who wanted white just order it by the glass. But, no. She decided on an organic California Cabernet but she asked if her friend could taste it first to make sure she liked it. Fine. Her friend tasted it and said it was good, but what the hell does she know? It’s been established that she does not like red wine. When I showed up to the table with the bottle, I uncorked it and poured a bit for Miss Wine Rep of America. She swirled it around in her glass and then smelled it about a hundred and fifty times and finally let it flow over her palate. After she swallowed, she made a face like I had accidentally served her the bottle of gasoline that we keep next to the Cabernet. She shook her head back and forth like she was having a seizure, all the while her hair flailing and her lips puckering.
“Wow! Wow! Wow! Whew…uhh, okay. Well… that is a really strong alcohol content. It’s like the alcohol just slapped me in the face.” I envied the wine for getting to slap this bitch in the face.
“I assume that means you don’t like it?” I queried.
“No. It’s okay. I think the bottle just needs to air out a bit. It’s fine.” Judging by her reaction it didn’t seem anywhere close to fine, but she said it was fine, which was fine with me.
“Are you sure?” I double checked.
She swallowed hard and said, ‘It’s not you, it’s the bottle.”
Bitch, I know it’s not me. Did you see my ass stomping grapes in California in 2009? I ain’t got shit to do with this bottle of wine. All I did was carry it from the bar to your table and then opened it. I know it’s not me.
She insisted she would drink it but after five minutes, she called me over and told me that it was impossible to drink because it was so horrific. She offered me a sip to confirm the horrific-ness, but I told her I like vodka. She sent the bottle back and ordered a bottle of what they had already been drinking at the bar as they waited for their table. Good idea, lady. The rest of the bottle that was so awful went back to the bar where our manager tasted it and deemed it perfectly fine and it was then sold by the glass to another table who also seemed to think it was more than adequate. The chef and the manager both agreed that this was the wine rep’s attempt to alert us that our wine selection was poor and she was the one who could fix the problem if only we would buy from one of her labels. Fat chance, wine rep. You pissed off the manager with your theatrics and he vowed to me that he would never consider sampling your wares. You lost that game, honey. However you did win something:
And the award for best overreaction to a taste of wine goes to… Miss Wine Rep of America at table 15! Congratulations! You can take this bottle of 2009 Cabernet and shove it up your pinot noir.