1:22 p.m. - 2003-12-16
I ordered a buffalo chicken sandwich. It was good. I didn't eat it the way it was presented, but it was very good. I rarely eat food the way it is presented. Especially chicken sandwiches and tenders. I have to pick off the sticky piece of cartilage in the corner, any skin and any visible veins.
Then I might pick off some breading, as I did here, and maybe I'll eat it with the bun torn up so there's no crust, or maybe with no bun at all. Last night was no bun, because it was too dry and crumbly. So I took it off and laid it on the table near the edge. It was too big to reside on my plate. I needed room to work.
The waiter stopped by, took a look at the table, and demanded to know what was wrong with the bun. I told him I didn't want it, it was too big to keep on the plate, so I laid it on the table.
Abject horror, disbelief and snottery.
He removed the offending bun.
The last time I truly offended a waiter, I was instructed to clean up my mess, and handed a stack of napkins as high as Mount Everest. You see, I had just eaten a huge meal with everyone else at my table, and the bachelorette insisted on going to an Italian bakery for dessert afterwards. We were all so full we were miserable, but we went to please our friend.
I ordered the smallest, simplest dish of ice cream. But I just couldn't eat it. It melted all over the table, while I was talking to some ladies at the other end of the table. Oops! The waiter was furious with me. He threw the napkins on the table, and demanded that I clean it up "right now"!
As much as I enjoy food, sometimes we just don't get along. I should have been left under that rock I was born under.