A table came in the other night–four gay boys–and as they were finishing up they asked me if I could deliver a note to another table, saying it was a message for a friend of theirs on a blind date. They told me three times it was the guy with glasses at the table next to the fireplace. I walked over to check it out, and there was only one guy with glasses on that side of the restaurant. The note contained some naughty words and I wanted to pass it on the sly, so I came up behind him, asked “Can I take your saltshaker?” and kinda slipped it onto the table so the guy sitting with him wouldn’t see it. A few minutes later their waiter came up to me and said, “Did you give my table a note? They want to talk to you.” I felt a little nervous, so I went back to my table and asked, “Is there anything bad in that note?” They all assured me there wasn’t, so I went back to the guy I’d given the note to, who said, “I’m not Jason, but I’d like to talk to whoever wrote this–send ’em over.” I went back and told my table “Wrong guy,” and they all started laughing. Eventually they found Jason–he’d taken off his glasses!
