Apparently I'm invisible.

The organic restaurant has quite a big crowd of custies for Sunday morning breakfast, which I'm usually okay with when I'm not hung over from the night before. There are a lot of interesting people that go out to eat on Sunday mornings. We get our regulars, first-time diners, kids, business men, more kids, old people, old people with grandkids, and everything in between.

Right at 10:15am, the same man stops in before church. He usually meets his wife and daughter. The man smiles at us through the glass doorway, says a nice hello when passing the host stand.......and just keeps on walking. The other hostess and I always turn to each other and shake our heads. Who the fuck does that? He keeps walking and chooses which ever table he feels is suitable for today. He always, of course, sits in a section of a server who isn't here yet, and sometimes one that isn't even cleaned off yet (Yes. It's that important that he has THAT specific table to where he'd sit at a dirty one). Causing us, the hosts, to grab an S.A (server assistant, similar to a busboy) to clear the table, find a server to pick up the table, and bring menu's to his table. Oh, and the fucking newspaper, because his lazy ass will always ask for the newspaper.

The two ladies come in a little later and always say "Oh, we're meeting someone who already has a table." Oh really? He has a table? That's funny because we never sat anyone that's waiting on anyone else. But go ahead and join the man that apparently owns the place now and is waving down the busboy because he forgot a spot.

I don't even care that much that he blows us off, it keeps me from greeting another asshole and having him tell me that the table I chose isn't good enough. I'd rather him blow me off because it's nice to be a bitch and walk over and say "Uhh, did you need menu's? Okay let me find a server to get you some drinks...." All awkward like. But one of these days, when I go to take him his fucking menu's and newspaper and rub his feet while I'm at it, I want to ask "Why the fuck do you do that? You can do it every day for the rest of your life, I don't give a shit, but just tell me what goes through your head when you see me seat EVERY other table around you and you sit there knowing that you blew me off?" I just want an explanation, you know? So that he, himself, can listen to how much of a prick he looks walking into the restaurant. I'm going to do it, one of these days, and you all will be the first to know about it.