If you don't know who Aaron Gilmore is - don't worry - it no longer matters. During the heavy breathing media mush pit that surrounded Mr Gilmore last week it was almost easy to forget that he wasn't the victim. Obviously Aaron has never done any hard hours in a kitchen because, if he had done so, he would know obnoxious patrons eventually get paid out as soon as the owners of the establishment aren't looking.
I am always meticulously polite to waiters and chefs, not only because I've been on the receiving end of bad behaviour but most especially because I want to ensure my meal won't contravene any health and safety standards.
I once walked in on an act of hospitality revenge in a big hotel in Wellington where a chef and a waiter were making a salad they felt was suitable for the pretentious tosser that had been abusing them for the previous hour. Trust me. Until the day I die I will not eat another tossed salad I haven't made myself. I refused to take it out.
The girl who'd been copping the sexist idiocy at the table all evening had no such reservations.
Aaron's dismount from his high horse was interesting in that at no time during his fall did he ever seem to get it.