The Sinister Moose

Last night, since we were both in Lexington at the same time, the wife and I decided to have dinner.

My day had already been stressful, and full of insipid questions from stupid computers.

My wife arrived before I did, and went ahead and got a table.

The waiter came to the table and asked what I would like to drink. "Sweet tea, no lemon" I said and made  point of stressing the no lemon part.

After about 10 minutes, our drinks arrived.

Then the waiter reappeared and took our order. He was a squatter. The kind of guy that squats down beside the table to take your order. It really annoys me. I have to know you before I'm comfortable with you being that close to me.

Yes, I'm sure I got snappish and huffy, and it didn't help the fact that I had just learned that my day wasn't over and that after dinner I still had to go install a router.

I said, "I'll have 12 hot wings"
He said, "What flavor?"

Okay, I probably should have simply said "The hottest kind you have" because this place has weak sauce.

Instead, I said, "Just hot"
He responded with, "We have three kinds of hot. do you want smoky, original..."

Clearly, I had not thought through my decision to eat hot wings. However, it did nothing to improve my mood, and every word out of his mouth seemed to be bringing him one step closer to death.

I finally told him original, and before I knew it, he threw in another god damn question.

He said, "Do you want ranch or blue cheese with those wings."

My knee jerk reaction was to say, "Do I look like I give a damn?" but, I was clearly already embarrassing my wife by making an ass out of myself.

"blue cheese" I said through clenched teeth.

I also, tried very hard to not make eye contact with the waiter, and he apparently tried very hard to make eye contact with me. Because at this point I wanted to bounce his forehead off the table, and pour salt in the wounds.

Yes, I know it was irrational. I'm never rude to wait staff. It's just a job. How would I feel if someone came into my office and was rude to me while I tried to help them?

Again, I know it was irrational, but there are some times when people should be better at reading other people. I sure the rage and hatred was radiating from me in all directions, why didn't he pick up on that and just bring me hot wings,  without all the chatter, and questions? At that point he could have brought me a bowl of dog food and I would have happily sat there and eaten it, provided I didn't have to answer yet another stupid question.

I made my wife uncomfortable, and for that I apologize. But why do some restaurants have to be so damnably obtuse. What does it add to the dining experience by forcing the customer to decide what they want to eat, and then like some middle school achievement test, be forced into 15 other decisions while the clock is ticking.

Lets be honest, a fussy eater, is a fussy eater. "I'll have this if it's fresh, but if it's not I have this on the side with an order of these but I don't like the onions, and is the dressing light?"

Personally I think these people should simply eat at home. Don't inflict your infinitely precise ordering habits on the rest of the world. No one cares if you're "allergic" to sage. Maybe you should eat at home for your own protection... protection from me, 'cause I'm gonna stick a fork in your eye, if you don't shut up and order a burger.

I find, as I'm getting older, that I'm getting less tolerant. Less tolerant of stupidity, less tolerant of dairy products, less tolerant of ignorance, and less tolerant of restaurants that attempt to be my home away from home. Give it up already, I'm a better cook than your assembly line full of illegal immigrants. I'm only eating in your restaurant, because it's faster. If you slow the whole process down by asking me an endless stream of idiotic questions, I'm gonna poke you right in the eye with the lemon wedge you dropped into my tea.

Again, I apologize to my wife for making her uncomfortable, but I was in a rotten mood. However I may still hunt down the waiter and punch him in the face, a lot, repeatedly. Some people just push all of my jerk buttons, and I can't help it.