Before embarking on this European adventure, I was working hard for my money, so hard for my money at Fleming’s Steakhouse in Indianapolis with a seriously crazy cast of characters. I didn’t work there long but sort of immediately fell in love with these people and the idiosyncrasies of the place itself. If you have ever worked at a restaurant, they all have them, and this was no exception. One particular mystery of the restaurant was known as the Double Fork Bandit. You see, at Fleming’s we remove the appetizer/salad fork off of the table before the salad is served because new chilled forks are actually presented with the salad itself (Fancy schmancy, I know!). This being said, you end up constantly carting around forks. Well, this phantom character they call the Double Fork Bandit is always leaving a fork duo behind…at the soda machine, at the Aloha station, next to the bar. One minute they aren’t there and then the next minute…he strikes!...like a bat out of hell….you never saw it coming…and then you are left, as you can imagine, mystified because as much as you want to and as hard as you try, you can never seem to put a face to the perpetrator. So Double Fork Bandit, whoever you are, because I’m so impressed by your righteous skill set, this one goes out to you…
THE MISSION:
One Saturday at work I was setting up my tables, making them look visually perfect as we are trained to do, and I noticed that the bane of my existence had once again taken up residence on my table. The culprit was a fork, and not any fork, a mismatched salad fork that does not look like any of the other silverware in the restaurant. This bit of proof that Satan does exist kept appearing on my tables. Finally, I’d had it. I had removed this thing far too many times and there it was again, all shiny and looking up at me, just mocking me. I seized that fork from its platform of ridicule and took it straight over to my boss, Hunter. “Hunter!” I said. “This fork does not match any of the forks in this whole place and it keeps ending up on my tables. May I please get rid of it?!” Hunter, clearly empathizing with the sheer frustration pulsing through my veins, told me I could take it home, better yet take it to Europe with me. At the thought of this, I jokingly decided to make some other waiter’s hell and we decided that I should leave it on a table in France. There it was…my mission, all laid out for me. Obviously, there was no turning back now.
THE PLAN:
I needed a restaurant in Paris that had a) a view of the Eiffel Tower as proof that I didn’t just pull a fast one and leave this thing at an airport Chili’s To Go, b) an unsuspecting waiter, and c) a really fantastic disguise so they couldn’t trace it back to me (deportation is not a good look for me).
THE SCENE:
Le Dome Café…excellent view.
THE WAITER:
Garcon (even I couldn’t make that up). Totally unsuspecting, and kind of a dick. Even better, as I was about to make his life a living hell. Revenge is a dish best served cold!...or to a random waiter in Paris who has never harmed you but just happened to cross your European itinerary on the wrong day.
THE SET UP:
Alex, the American tourist. He’ll never suspect a thing.
Alex, incognito. Le Fork Bandit has emerged!
THE FOLLOW THROUGH:
Act clueless and American. Smile a lot. Distract him with my charm as well as the flash of my ever present camera. Stick that flash straight into his eyes if I must. No stone unturned! Order, eat, and leave that tip with a little something extra….BAM!
SUCCESS:
You just got forked you French F*#K!
Le Fork Bandit strikes again!!!...or, for the first time, but hey, who’s counting?
AndNowEuropeToDate…
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