Your Table Is Not Ready

My wife and I went out to dinner with some out-of-town friends. We showed up early at the restaurant and got our names on the list. The lady at the hostess stand gave me one of those buzzer thingies and said it would be 20 minutes or so.

You will be seated at a time and place of *our* choosing, you helpless little diphthong

We walked outside to wait and the buzzer went off. Confused, I went back in.

The hostess instantly tried to herd me to a table. It took a few minutes before they figured out they'd buzzed the wrong group.

I went back outside to wait.

5 minutes later, the buzzer went off again. Our friends still hadn't shown up, so I was prepared to tell them to skip us for a while. "Oh, you're table's not ready," the hostess explained. "I just hit your button by mistake. Sorry!"

I went back outside to wait. Again.

The buzzer went off. I pushed my way back inside. The hostess said, "Would you like to take a menu outside with you while you wait?" She was giggling.

I went back outside to wait. Again.

Dance! Dance for your table! Dance until your shoes fall off, my helpless little puppet!

The buzzer went off. I pushed through the crowd yet again. The hostess made no attempt to disguise her motive. "I'm deliberately messing with you," she explained. "I have a bet with the manager. He thinks you'll break down and cry after another 10 minutes or so." She winked. "I think it'll be quicker than that."

I went back outside to wait. Our friends showed up. The next time the buzzer went off, I let the big guy in the group lead us in.

The hostess' eyes flashed with terror. "Right this way!", she squeaked. We were seated.

She and her manager both lost the bet that day, because neither of them figured my reaction would be "resort to violence".