Please drop the American hospitality-speak

‘Hi guys, how may i help you?’ ‘We’ve got a table for four; my wife’s just parking the car.’ ‘Amazing!’

Amazing that we arrived unscathed or amazing that we can park a car? Thus went the conversation on entering a certain eatery.

Don’t get me wrong, waiting in a restaurant is hard work, and most of the staff are young, beautiful and eager. But please drop the American hospitality-speak.

‘And how is your bacon roll?’ ‘Er, OK, thanks.’ ‘Fantastic!’ No, just an ordinary bacon roll. ‘Could I have some mustard?’ ‘No problem!’

I didn’t imagine it would be a problem, it’s a restaurant after all. What if it was a problem? What if the waiter had to get a taxi to Morrisons to get a tube of Colman’s Squeezy?

This actually happened, sort of. My companion ordered a gin and tonic in a tiny bar in rural Crete. The owner was briefly taken aback, as his establishment was only stocked with beer, ouzo and retsina.

All the ancient heavily moustachioed customers stared in horror. But undeterred, mine host leapt into an old Rover and drove off in a cloud of dust.

Minutes later, he roared past in the other direction. Finally skidding to a halt outside his café, he emerged, triumphantly waving a three-quarters-full bottle of Gordon’s. Certainly madam, no problem!

There’s a place in Bath where ‘Hello, I’m Jason and I’ll be your server tonight’ squats beside your table. Everything is ‘no problem’ or even more annoyingly ‘a good choice.’ ‘Is there anything else I can help you guys with?’ ‘Well...’

I’d like to say ‘You’ve got a choice. You can stand up and stop breathing on my cutlery or I could poke you in the eye.’

These verbal tics come and go. As students in the 1960s everything was ‘fabulous.’ Something to do with the Beatles.

Realising our vocabulary needed enriching, we had a meeting over a pint to see what word(s) we could substitute. We couldn’t think of anything. So, everything went back to being fabulous. ‘How was your bacon roll?’ ‘Fabulous!’ Funny, we’d never heard the word ‘awesome.’

When we go to the West Indies and we see the words ‘fine dining,’ we know the place will inevitably be owned by an ex-pat American who will ooze all over us, presuming we’ve just got off a cruise liner, bringing our gullibility with us.

If they offer ‘local specialities’ we know we’ll get tiny versions of what one can get bigger and better for half the price from the colourful van parked nearby.

After a sparse meal at one such establishment, the owner sidled up. ‘When you came in, I said to myself, these guys are dessert guys!’ Are you saying we’re overweight madam?

A curse on your dessert menu. We left, retiring for a vast and delicious fresh fruit smoothie at Sam’s Shake Shack round the corner.

‘We booked a table for four, but my wife was abducted by aliens on the way here, so there’s just three of us.’ ‘Amazing!’

Ralph Oswick was artistic director of Natural Theatre for 45 years and is now an active patron of Bath Comedy Festival