In my current restaurant I have a cursed table. It may not be cursed for anyone else, but every time I have to deal with I have a problem. It is designated C5, although it seems that my staff has some difficulty getting the table number down correctly, so it is often marked as C1 or C10 on the tickets. This just adds a little more confusion to my job.

C5 is located in a corner of the room, and usually is set up to facilitate eight guests. One time while I was running food out to the table there was a guest who seated at the end of the table in the corner, so that his back was against the wall. I was doing my usual shuffle of plates, trying to get the customers to listen for their order so I knew where to put the plate, when one of the plates needed to go to the far side of the table. I was about to go behind the guest seated in the corner, there was plenty of room behind to step right by, when he leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms and stared at me defiantly.

No one missed the gesture, all speech at the previously chatting table ended. I waited for a moment for him to move, or someone to say anything to him, no one did and he remained planted in place. I sighed and went around the table the long way, not wishing to confront the customer. I was unsure of what I had done to deserve his ire, but it didn’t matter. I guess someone at the table must have said something to him because when he left he wouldn’t look me in the eyes, and his steps were shuffling. I will never know his reasoning.

Another time I went to deliver food back to the accursed table and got the food on the table in record time, I was pleasantly surprised that they had hungry enough to actually want what they ordered. I asked the same thing I always ask before exiting a table “Is there anything else I can get you folks at the moment?” When a guy seated at the end of the table, yes the same seat as before, told me that his Portabella tasted like mushroom. I blinked, my natural reaction to hearing something that I could not have heard, and asked him to repeat himself.

I then asked him what he had ordered. He told me he had ordered the Chicken Fried Portabella. He went on to add that his dish tasted like mushrooms. I shook my head and informed him that it was because it was a mushroom. He had a mini meltdown and demanded I bring him something else. To which I replied “of course” and asked him what he wanted. To which he replied the Chicken Fried Portabella. I was looking around at the rest of the table for help, but no one there had any clue what was going on. I sighed and asked if a Chicken Fried Chicken would be fine. He responded that it would be.

Now this may only be two examples of this table but I could go on for days about it. It is not always the seat against the wall, but that does seem to harbor some serious resentment to me as well. Every time I go to this table there is a problem of some kind. Usually there are many. Anyone know of an exorcism rite for a table?