A few years ago some friends and I were dining at a restaurant in Chicago that shall remain nameless. We hadn’t chosen the restaurant based on reviews of their food or service. The choice was based strictly on it’s proximity to the movie theater next door where we’d purchased tickets to a show. As we dined and laughed enjoying each other’s company we didn’t notice that one of our fancy schmancy paper napkins had come dangerously close to the candle adorning the table. Before we knew it, there was a fire at our table. Since we were all drinking alcohol (don’t judge us) we couldn’t throw our drinks on it to put it out. We quickly began trying to put it out using anything we cound find. When nothing worked, I blew on it. Should’ve been a good idea, right? WRONG! As I blew on it, tiny embers from the flame flew from the table and onto my friend’s sweater. Luckily, he wasn’t wearing some tragic, poly blend or he might have gone up in flames that night. Through all of this, not a single person employed by the restaurant said a word or offered to help.
Fast forward to today when I’m sitting in a little Italian restaurant on Ile Saint-Louis in the 4th. A father and his three daughters came in and sat at the table next to me. As they waited for their food the little girls fidgeted in their seats while talking about this and that. All of a sudden I hear one of their little voices say, “Uh oh!!” The smallest of the three had dropped something onto the candle on their table and started a fire. Quick thinking Dad grabbed the entire burning bundle and ran into the street to stamp it out. Passersby were stunned at the sight. The little girls cheered for their hero. And once again, the restaurant staff was completely oblivious.
I guess the policy of restaurants all over the world is: “The [table], the [table], the [table]’s on fire! We don’t need no water let the &*%$!@#%#$%^& BURN!! [or just let the customers put it out]