On hiatus, obviously
Yeah there is a pandemic so I am not eating in restaurants. Check back if the world ever goes normal again.
I Guess it Could Be Cauliflour
I’m a pizza take-away and in front of me in line are two 20-something girls.
One questions the validity of their gluten free crust option; “Cauliflower isn’t gluten free, it has flour right in the name.”
Then later, “everyone has Celiac’s Disease at least a little bit.”
¿Que?
I’m at my favourite local Mexican restaurant, a little family owned hole-in-the-wall. Perhaps it goes without saying, but the entire staff is latino and spanish-speaking.
Yet here I am, sitting next to a middle-aged white woman who is intent on translating the components of her order to the server. She clarifies she wants “carnitas, which is pork” to the waitress no less than three times throughout the order. She also wants “salsa verde; that’s the green one.” Luckily, she drew the line at explaining what a chile relleno was, and spared us all that final potential lesson.
A recent grad from Hollywood Upstairs Medical College
I’m finishing up my lunch in a quiet restaurant. The table across from me is man is eating lunch with two women. They are engaged in a passionate debate… or, at least he is. He is insisting to the two skeptical-looking women that if “you die in your dreams, you die in real life.” Dude is insisting it is a 100% true scientific reality. The women are being polite, “I think that’s just an urban legend” but he is absolutely not having it. If you dream your death, your body is convinced and just totally shuts off and you immediately die. A medical fact, he says.
He has the kind of confidence about this information that I feel like even if someone whipped out their phone and googled this for him, he’d just be convinced the whole internet was wrong instead of himself.
I almost regret leaving before seeing how that battle concluded.
No, it’s the children who are wrong.
The young man with the backwards cap and sunglasses in the booth next to me is squatting on his seat while he eats his pizza and chats with his ladyfriend.
He looks like some sort of dudebro gargoyle.
I don’t really have a story or conversation to add to that because I think it’s sufficiently weird on its own. WHO EATS LIKE THAT IN A RESTAURANT.
I’ll Have a Large Combo With Some Lovin’ on the Side
The scene is a fast food restaurant. There is a couple, probably in their late 20s/early 30s, sitting across from each other at a little two-top table.
They keep standing up to give each other kisses across the table. I am there for about 20 minutes and see it at least three times.
I GET IT. YOU LOVE EACH OTHER. BUT THIS IS WEIRD.
Just sit down and use that mouth for shoveling in your burger and fries.
No, Cannot Has Cheezburger
Scene: a man eating solo at a generic chinese restaurant restaurant.
The man orders a mango iced tea.
The server says sorry, they don’t have mango iced tea.
The man asks for a raspberry iced tea.
The server says they don’t have any fruit teas, and begins listing beverage selection.
The man wants sweet tea.
The server says they don’t have any kind of tea but regular black tea. She returns to listing drinks.
The man then requests strawberry juice. [editor’s note: ?!?!is this a thing?!?!]
Amazingly, the waiter is able to offer him some sort of strawberryish drink from the bar menu, made virgin.
The man then starts ordering food that is not on the menu. Really, really, not on the menu. He goes through four or five different “orders” (turkey sandwich? pizza? cheeseburger? ) with escalating frustration before he finally starts looking at the menu to see the kind of food that actually is available. He orders the lunch special. It is dinner time. Finally, he gives up and just asks for broth. He wants nothing in his broth, except maybe some white rice. Luckily, the kitchen can accommodate this and he is finally content.
I hope he enjoyed his dinner of beef broth and strawberry juice.
I Would Like Food With Sauce
Scene: chinese restaurant – one patron, one appetizer, one hot sauce.
Patron: “This [hot] sauce is spicy, do you have a sauce like this one but not spicy.”
Server: “That’s a chile sauce so unfortunately it only comes in spicy.”
Patron: “Well, I’ll have another kind of sauce then.”
Server: “Um, like what kind of sauce? “
Patron: “Like… a sauce. Another kind of sauce.”
Server: “We have soy sauce?”
Patron: “No, like, a sauce. I want a sauce.”
[spoiler conclusion: lady ultimately surrenders to saucelessness]
I think that man actually hates you, sir.
Scene: Two men in suits.
One man advises the other:
“Here’s what you need to do. You need to buy [local newspaper] and then you need to invest some money to turn it into a national paper.”
Then they spend the rest of the lunch hashing out the details of this trainwreck of a business venture.
Mrs. Butterpurse
Scene: two older ladies at a table.
One is telling the other about the time she got in a physical altercation with a waitress at a Waffle House because the server mistakenly said the syrup was real maple syrup but — plot twist — it wasn’t. She kept harping about how dumb the server was for thinking it was real maple, as if that made it obvious why the girl needed to be attacked over her mistaken categorization of a breakfast condiment. Her voice was full of pride as she recanted this tale.
She then produced a stick of butter out of her purse and explained that’s why she always packs her own butter and syrup when she goes out to eat, because restaurants usually only have margarine and fake maple.
I’m not sure what is weirder: the Waffle House fisticuffs or the purse butter. Also, it wasn’t even breakfast.
No, baby, it’s disgusting.
Scene: A lady and two guys at lunch. One guy appears to be her friend, the other seems to be the partner of the other man, and mostly chews silently. He must not like the lady. I know I don’t. Aside from the awful racist, she is possibly one of the most obnoxious people I’ve ever had the “pleasure” of eating beside.
From the very start, the lady addresses her server as “Baby” and keeps touching his arm. After he takes her drink order, she begins asking him a bunch of very personal questions. She is probably the same age as his mother. He appears mildly uncomfortable but answers the questions politely. She continues to exclusively call him “Baby” throughout the entire meal.
So, already I kinda hate her.
Her friend at the table orders some kind of cocktail. When it arrives, she asks if she can try it. Her friend says sure and passes her the glass.
Lady: Oh, that is disgusting. All you can taste is the alcohol! You actually like this?
Friend: Yes, this is what I usually get.
Lady: You like it though?
Friend: …yes.
Lady: It’s disgusting, all you can taste is the alcohol.
[server walks up]
Server: Is the drink not okay?
Friend: It is great, thank you.
Lady: No, it’s disgusting! All you can taste is the alcohol.
Server: I’m very sorry! Uh… I can bring you an extra cup of the mixer to add to it to dilute it a bit if you’d like?
Lady: Yes, please do.
Friend: No, really it’s fine.
Lady: You really like it like that?
Friend: Yes, it’s good.
Server: I’m happy to if you’d like.
Friend: No, please, it is good.
Lady: [incredulous] You really like it like that?
Server: Okay, well let me know if you change your mind.
Lady: [insistent] It’s disgusting.
Friend: It’s really fine.
[after server leaves]
Lady: You really like it like that?
“Some other kind of South American.”
Scene: At the table across from me is a lady in her early 30s and several nicely dressed old men (80+). They appear to have some kind of professional relationship.
[did not hear what led up to this admission – thankfully, I think]
Lady: Oh, no, I don’t interact with Mexicans.
Man A: Really?
Lady: No, never. Not at all.
Man A: What about in Mexican restaurants?
Lady: Actually, they aren’t usually even Mexican in Mexican restaurants. They’re some other kind of South American.
Man B: Uh… that is true, they aren’t always Mexican.
[awkward silence from the rest of the table]
Later in the meal, the young lady makes some comment about “Orientals”
Man who has to be at least 90: YOU CAN’T SAY THAT WORD ANYMORE.
Thank you for the lesson on social appropriateness, man who is old enough to have owned slaves.
I hope she runs
I just spent my entire 30 minute lunch listening to this man describe in excruciating detail his clerical/customer service job, down to a play-by-play of the morning including precisely how many emails he got, what he talked about on the phone with so-and-so, how frustrated Wendy was with her spreadsheet…. every. single. minutiae. He keeps saying “funny story” and adding something equally boring. He hasn’t paused talking long enough for the woman he’s eating lunch with to say a single thing the entire time.
I am not sure if I hate him because he’s awful or because he’s basically me. I feel so bad for her.
And then the kicker, as I’m gathering up my things to leave, he asks her a question that reveals that this lunch is a job interview. For her. He is interviewing her.
Not sure if dumb or charlatan
Scene: A handful of professionals at a business lunch
Sales Bro: The key to making money online for your company is using Bing.
Employee A: Bing?
Sales Bro: It’s Microsoft’s version of Google.
Employee B: [impressed] Oh, Microsoft!
Sales Bro: Yeah, they pay way higher for ad words than Google.
Employee A: What does that mean?
Sales Bro: so like basically if you would have made $180,000 on Google, you’d make almost $240,000 on Bing.
[no one asks the realistic possibility of making either of these figures anywhere]
Sales Bro: Also, the key to driving traffic to your site is using Bing too. Not Google. You’ll get way more online sales. Yahoo might also be good, but I’ll have to check on that.
[note: no, Yahoo is not “also good.”]
He then spent the remainder of the meal bragging about how many offices he has and how many people he manages. He has an office in NYC and LA. I guess that means he’s totes legit.
The mystery of the century, except not.
This time the source of the awkward was me. To set the scene, I’m eating lunch with my spouse in one of the places I eat fairly regularly.
My server takes our drink order and says, with a look of extreme embarrassment on her face, “okay… I have to ask… what is nut spork?”
Did I mishear her? Is this a joke? Is someone filming me with a hidden camera? All I can say is “what?”
“A nut spork? Do you… only eat with sporks?” She sounds almost as confused as I feel. I didn’t know how to respond and just stared at her with what was almost certainly a deer-in-the-headlights look. Finally she shows me the ticket for my table:
I… what. The three of us just stare at the ticket silently together.
Finally my spouse goes, “is that for allergies? So… nuts and pork?” I remember then I am a “rewards” member here and I must filled out some kind of survey when I registered about food restrictions.
The server laughs awkwardly, “oh okay, I thought it had something to do with spoons and forks!”
I think she had some “adult beverage”
There is a lady on the other side of the dining room eating lunch with a few of her friends. An Aretha song comes on the radio and she instantly jumps up out of her chair and, at the literal top of her lungs, starts belting out the song along with Ms Franklin. Her friends simultaneously shout “NOOOOO” in horror and dive on her to pull her back in her chair. She is quiet for awhile until the chorus comes on, then she immediately jumps back up again and sings along at full volume. Her friends are screaming and mortified, “people are trying to eat here.”
I wanted to tell her to ignore her friends and sing wherever she damn well pleases but probably the other patrons might not have appreciated that.
10/10 best probably-drunk lady I have eaten in proximity to
I am vegan but I don’t know what that means.
Scene: Two friends out at lunch at an asian restaurant
Lady A: I don’t remember – are you vegan or vegetarian?
“Vegan” Lady: I’m vegan.
Lady A: I thought so. This place has a lot of great vegan and vegetarian stuff. Our whole family is vegetarian so I come here a lot.
“Vegan” Lady: I like to get [whatever entree] except with tofu.
Lady A: Oh, is that vegan? I am pretty sure it has egg in it. It actually might also have dairy, too.
“Vegan” Lady: Well, it is vegan if you get tofu instead of chicken.
Lady A: [sounding confused] Yeah, I know you can get it made vegetarian since I’ve ordered it before, I just wasn’t sure about vegan.
“Vegan” Lady: Tofu is vegan.
Lady A: Yeah, uh, but… yeah, see here? The menu says it has eggs in it. So it wouldn’t be vegan for you. Hm, how about we get [another entree] instead?
“Vegan” Lady: No no, [first entree] with tofu instead of chicken is good. It’s vegan if we get tofu.
Lady A: [awkwardly] uhm… okay… then…. We’ll just get that.
This probably says more about me than her
Normally I do not actively try to eavesdrop. However, today I admit to enthusiastically straining my ears trying to hear more about a lady’s “$1700 cobra” before I realised she was not talking about her awesome pet venomous snake but, in fact, COBRA.
Talk about disappointing.