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“Is Barry on tonight?” began middle aged customer Margaret Caulfield, who spent her first three minutes frantically looking for attention in the busy Waterford city restaurant. “Barry’s usually on Friday nights. Is he off?”

Immediately discerning the woman’s particular customer persona as one they were reluctantly well versed in, staff at ‘The Coddle Pot’ drew plastic straws to see who would look after the dreaded table 15.

“He must be still out golfing. He was saying he was going out golfing the last day I was in. He’s always golfing that Barry, is he on later at all?” Mrs. Caulfield repeated again to herself, now slightly less frantic due to the sudden appearance of waiter Darius Flak, who was now anxiously squeezing his short straw for dear life behind his back.

“Hello, and welcome to ‘The Coddle Pot’. My name is Darius, would you like to see the menu?” he asked, blissfully ignoring the woman’s calls for the owner knowing the cunning ruse for getting preferential treatment all too well.

“Barry, is he on tonight? I don’t see him on,” she persisted, now squinting behind the waiter as though he was invisible. “Could have sworn I heard him there when I came in”.

“I’m sorry, I don’t actually know, can I help you with your order?” the waiter asked.

“I suppose I’ll go for the usual, then,” the daughter of two scoffed, now staring vacantly at him.

“And that would be?” he replied.

“If Barry was here now he’d know what that was… anyway, give me the hake special you have on there, very disappointing Barry isn’t here,” she ordered, before the waiter went back to the kitchen.

“Can I have one hake special please for this dose on table 15 who apparently knows the owner, Gary, but for some reason insists on calling him ‘Barry’,” the waiter told the chef, giving him a ‘one of those cunts’ smile and a nod.