Flirting with Italian Girls

If I were asked what I like most about living in Baltimore is the plethora of diverse ethnic restaurants serving amazing cuisine at working man prices. Within my neighborhood, there are restaurants that serve Chinese food, Thai food, Indian food, Lebanese food, Italian food, Greek food, German food, Polish food, and Nigerian food. Many are mom and pop shops those proprietors are right off the boat.

One of the ones that I frequent is the Ristorante Italiano, a neighborhood diner that serves Italian food. They serve the best cream of crab soup with huge chunks of crab meat.

I usually visit the diner very late at night (sometime between 2 and 3 in the morning). Most of the restaurant staff, during that shift, can just barely speak enough English to be able to take the order. So, I generally stick to giving my order. Occasionally, I'd throw them a "Buon giorno! Come sta?" when I come in and an "Arrivederci" when I leave. At most, I'd tell the waitress, "Grazie. Ti amo!" when she gives me something extra. But the exchange is always brief. As soon as I receive my order, I'm out the door.

Tonight, they were out of the cream of crab soup and were still cooking the new batch when I ordered the soup.

While I waited for my soup, another late night patron came in. It looked like he had been clubbing and was not yet ready to stop partying.

As he approached the counter, one of three waitresses asked, "What would you like?"

In an attempt to flirt with the waitresses, this late night patron smiled, winked, and replied, "Two blondes and a brunette", referring to the three waitresses.

All three waitresses looked puzzled. They quickly opened the menu and started to scan it for the requested items.

The late night patron tried his line again, "No, no, I said, 'Two blondes and a brunette.'"

"Two blondes and a brunette"

Repeating the line only sent the three waitresses into a huddle.

Realizing that the Italian waitresses did not understand him, he tried to back peddle, "Never mind, just give me a veal parmigiana."

Unfortunately, the waitresses were well instructed in the policy of "The customer is always right" and were intent on satisfying this patron's order. So, they called for the manager to come up front from the kitchen.

"Dell him what ju want."

The late night patron was so embarrassed that I can feel the heat from his redden face radiating from the back of his head.

He slowly explain that it was a joke, "Blonde, Blonde, Brunette", pointing at each waitress. "You asked what I wanted; I said, 'Two blondes and a brunette."

Silence.

At this point, even I am feeling this guy's humiliation. In my mind, I was screaming at the waitresses, "Throw this guy a bone and laugh at his pathetic little joke even if you don't get it. And then, please, put him out of his misery by moving on to taking his real order."

Just when I couldn't stand this guy's agony any longer, the waitresses and the manager laughed.

I couldn't tell if they actually understood the joke or if they were just being polite.

After receiving his order, the late night patron walked silently out the door with his tail between his legs.

As I sat there watching him exit, I made a mental note, "Need to learn their language before attempting to flirt with girls who can barely speak English."