История про наши рестораны с форума про Рублевку...

The story about our restaurants from the forum about Rublevka
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Our recent event in a restaurant. My girlfriend and I come to the restaurant - quite for ourselves, but not Michelin (if Michelin, everything said below was probably justified). We open the door. Behind the small platform are two Ladies. Under the heads I will give a chest the size of a decent such globe from a self-respecting geography cabinet; immediately beneath them begin legs the length of the street. Trade union (who does not know, the longest street in Moscow, if nothing has changed). - Do you have dinner? - The First one melodiously asks (the second one reproachfully looks at us from under 5D eyelashes). - We eat. - Have dinner? They look at each other anxiously. “For dinner, yes,” my friend says soothingly. “Wait, please, for a few minutes,” the Second drops, and as beautiful as a longboat in the raging sea, she retires to an empty room.
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 After some time (we are standing at the entrance, nervously shifting). The second leads the Administrator with a Deflowe expression. He sternly looks around us as recruits: "Do you have dinner?" - we nod, already knowing how to pass this test (repetition is the mother of learning!). Administrator: “Follow me” (if anything, the hall is right there, there’s not even a curtain; but he clearly doubts our ability to find the way. In the middle of the hall, he stops, bows his head and looks at us with interest. -Maybe we are at the table at windows? - He's booked! (immediate indignant answer)
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. Next, we alternately sort through all the decent tables in the deserted room. It turns out that everyone has been booked (a banquet of the invisible? Ghost birthday?). - There is one table, over there - of course, yes, it is he. A table at the door to the toilet. He must always be busy, otherwise why does the Administrator eat his bread and client’s money? “Then we went to another restaurant,” I say, “today is Wednesday, everything is empty.”
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The administrator elegantly rolls his eyes (how tired he is of us!) - You can take this table (on the aisle) - people (People! Here! And we are so-so, a test balloon) will come in 3 hours; if you linger, you have to leave or change seats. We politely refuse, moving back to the starting positions near the Globes. An irritated sigh breaks out from the Administrator’s chest: “Good! Here’s a table by the wall, will it suit you?” We go and sit at a table by the wall. The administrator, shaking his head disapprovingly, disappears. After about 10 minutes, the Gloomy Man appears. He silently puts the menu on the table. “Can I have whiskey?” - we are eating after him. He turns around, giving us a heavy look: “I'm not a waiter!” - and leaves.
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 Harsh Menu Bearer. Having studied the menu, we have fun and begin to show impatience; - after 10 minutes. - I am your waiter! We started to order. - No duck! There is no salad. No, unfortunately, Perrier is over. There is still Perrier - called Evian. - And what is there, tell me? So that we know what to choose from? - There is everything! It’s just that you choose unsuccessful positions (that’s who is to blame! Chernyshevsky would be glad that the descendants would find the answer to all his questions). We find a compromise, everyone is tired. Bring whiskey. We are laughing in a completely empty room; outside the window with a cheerful pink glow, the sunset slowly falls on Moscow streets and the mood is steadily rising.
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Suddenly, a man in black grows up at a table. “I am your sommelier,” he informs in an afterlife voice. - We will not wine, we drink whiskey, we frivolously wave it. - I could recommend you wine. It suits your order better than whiskey. Here, for example (by opening the wine list and starting the story) .- We won’t, -the friend says nervously. I nod, holding on tightly to the whiskey (will take it away? Pour it out? It will drink it!). Sommelier closes the wine list: “It's strange that you react like that; usually our clients listen to my opinion” - and leaves us slowly and sadly, floating in the air like Dracula.
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The waiter brings quite a tasty meal. Having finished dinner on a major note, we get up and are about to leave. “Grab the water,” the friend asks, “and I take a small bottle of feathery evian, about to put it in my bag.” “WHAT is this with you?” Globes come to life.
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“Water,” I say, bewildered. Can? -The globes are exchanging glances. -Yes, - one says a little uncertainly, -Do you pack it? -To wrap up? the friend asks. “Yes!” I say maliciously, passing the sealed tiny bottle into thin hands with long claws. Globes are swaying, there is a rustle - and now my Feathered Evian is already in a long wine paper bag.
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 We leave the empty room, where they are deliciously fed - and apart from the cook and the waiter, we did not need anyone.
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A curtain. P.S. in Italy: Peruzhdi restaurant; behind the counter, Signor Perugia, in the kitchen of Signor Perugia, in the hall - the sons of Perugia; little Signorino Perugia-bimbo dexterously carries bread and water. There is a queue at the entrance. Tasty and fun. And strangely enough, there is no sense of lack of Globes, Administrator, Grim Menu Bearer and Sommelier.