I had one of those tables last week who just don't like to communicate. It's apparently too difficult to say words like "chicken" and "salad", because this guy freaking grunted at me and said, "We'll both have that." He jabbed his finger squarely in to the picture of a salad.
"Okay, two (Fried Chicken With Sugar Dressing More Calories Than A Cheeseburger) Salads," I said very clearly. "Would either of you like some soup before dinner?"
They ignored me. Okay, whatever. Patio dwellers are usually giant pains in my ass, so I just continued on about my business. Ten minutes later, another server comes up to me with two salads and asks where they go. Grunt Man and his silent wife had said the salads weren't theirs--"we ordered pasta!"
Nothing galls me more than to have to apologize and kiss ass to the person who was actually at fault, but I did my best. They weren't satisfied, and bitched out the manager, and demanded free food and free dessert. They refused to make eye contact with me the rest of the time they were there, and they stiffed me.
Because, you know, I should be able to read minds--both when they order the wrong thing and when I repeat it and don't get corrected!