So, my daughter convinced me last week to go out to a local diner for a late lunch. I'm usually all about take-out and TV, because let's face it, I hate people. And nowhere do I hate them more than at a restaurant. It's just sensory overload for me. Between listening to loud chatter, chairs scraping on a concrete floor, and utensils against a plate, I go bonkers. Knowing this about myself, I still thought, why not? It was early, not yet the dinner rush, and really, how bad could it be? Spoiler alert: really freaking bad.
So, this dude behind me had some serious phlegm action going on. It was impressive, really. And you know how the sound of metal scraping a plate is like nails on a chalkboard? Well, it was like that...but with his knife carving directly into my brain. I swear, after the 6th time of his knife raking across the plate, I was about ready to lose it. Is it rude to just cover your ears at the table? You know what? I don't care. He was on a serious mission to scrape, carve, and chisel his way through that pot roast like an archeologist discovering the Spear of Destiny. I'm surprised he had a plate left. Covering my ears was the least of my worries. I swear, it was all I could muster to not jump out of my seat and just snatch his plate away from him. I bet his wife would've thanked me. But I persevered. It might've been through gritted teeth and bad words, but I persevered.
The table across the room had been taken over by a gaggle of old folks. Why should I care, you ask? Well, one or more members of the group must've been hard of hearing, so we got to listen to their booming conversations as if we were sitting right at their table. We got to hear all about Aunt Gertrude's sciatica and Uncle Bob's colonoscopy (yep, they went there). Just when we thought we were catching a break, one of them gets a call and their ringtone is blasting like it's a car at a red light, sharing their music with the world. Perhaps it wasn't quite loud enough though, because it took them forever to silence it and that was only after a member of their group yelled "answer the goddamn phone, Phyllis!" And as if that wasn't enough, Phyllis took the call on speakerphone so we could all join in on a conversation about her upcoming medical procedure involving a broken something or other. Thanks so much for sharing, but do you mind keeping it down? Come on, the whole place doesn't need to know your medical history, dude.
But that wasn't even the best part. This came in the form of a "what's your favorite meal" competition in which one woman – maybe Phyllis – decided it was hotdog soup with spinach. Who knew that was even a thing? After a brief back and forth with my daughter on whether it was really an actual dish or some colossal joke, I was forced to Google it right then and there. I couldn't just not, right? I mean, it's hotdog soup for Pete's sake! Well, it's real, I'll have you know. It's apparently one of those inexpensive meals to make your family when times are tough, or you have several kids and you're looking for a filling meal for everyone that won't break the bank. Or it could just be you love hotdogs and are looking for another way to put them on the menu. Just FYI, there are a lot of recipes out there and I can't say that any of them look good. But who am I to judge? Here's one for you to try. Spinach must be an add on to spruce up the meal, because I didn't find any with spinach as an ingredient. Thanks for that cooking tip, Phyllis!
And to think, I PAID for this experience. You'll be glad to know, and I was too, no old folks were harmed during this meal.
Moral of the story: always listen to that little voice inside your head that says "just get take-out." It will never steer you wrong.
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