Apology Olives

As I rang to book a table at a Spanish restaurant in South Kensington, I knew there were going to be problems. It was like a sixth sense. It all came down to the fact that the person on the other end of the line was entirely, not a little bit, but entirely Spanish. Now, not being someone who speaks any Spanish at all, and he not speaking any English at all, the confusion started early:
'Casa *****, how many I help you?'
'I'd like to book a table for two next Wednesday.'
Now, call me an amateur, but surely this waiter had heard this phrase before? Of all the things this man hears down the phone at work, I am sure, booking a table for a number of people for a day would be something that he could comprehend. Apparently not.
'Sorry, can you repeat?' was his reply.
After saying the same thing a good three times, in various speeds and volumes, we had just about come to the conclusion that I would like a table, for two people, on Wednesday.
'For what time?'
'8.30 please'
'Can I have your name and phone number?'
'Lucy, 078********'
Phew! We'd made it!
'Hold the line one minute please.'
Then came lots of muffled chat in Spanish, some rustling, some more chat.
'Hello, can I just confirm, Lucy, 8.30, Thursday, 0771****-'
'NO! 8.30 on WEDNESDAY and my number is 078...!'
So far a conversation that should have lasted maybe one minute maximum had lasted eight minimum. I was at my desk at work, with my colleague sniggering as my obvious frustration started to simmer.
'Ok, sorry sorry, so it's 8.30 on Wednesday, for two people, name of Lucy.'
'Exactly, thank you.'
Marvellous. I told my dinner date that all was set although I thought there may well be some degree of cock up with the booking.
On the night I turned up at 8.28, ready to eat tapas galore.
'Hi there, do you have a reservation?'
'Yes, 8.30 for two, Lucy.'
Guess what, my reservation wasn't there. I looked on the screen and everything. It was on Thursday, at 8.30 with the wrong phone number (right name though, so props for that). Clearly the waiter hadn't pressed save on the computer after putting in my correct details.
I recounted the long conversation I'd had with the waiter to the waitress. As way of an apology she sorted us out a table immediately, in fact she pushed two tables together (which, in a crowded tapas restaurant, is a bit of a luxury) and handed us lots and lots of olives - which we now fondly refer to as apology olives. The meal was delicious, if fact the chef came out and spoke to us and made us a bespoke tasting menu - woop woop!

Image: Lucy