The dude and I had quite the interesting lunch today. We met at a chain Italian restaurant, used to be one of my favs.
To keep with anonymity, we’ll call it the Olive-a Arden-gay.
Best part of the lunch: Getting to see the dude. And then it just kamikazied from there.
Our Waitress Lady was a bit older, very nice. She delivered our salad and bread quickly, but right after the dude took his first bite of salad, he saw blue stuff all over the back of his fork. My best guess was crayon. Yummy. She apologizes and brings him a new set of silverware.
Great. La la la, on with the meal.
I’m not really feeling all that jazzy to begin with, so I tried one bite of salad (thankfully) and munched on a breadstick.
Waitress Lady brings the dude some more salad, and as he goes to mix it, I hear him go, “Whoa, whoa, hold up. Miss? We got us a hair in here.”
And what is the first thing she says? “Is it mine?”
Ok, first of all, there is a big-A two foot long nasty hair covered in dressing wrapped all around the salad tongs (no joke), so I don’t give a 3-dog dang whose hair it is.
Secondly, as I mentioned previously, our waitress was a bit older, so this has got to be the reason why she held the entire bowl up to the light - in front of all the other rapidly-losing-their-appetite diners - exclaiming she “just couldn’t see it!” The dude, being the dear that he is, was gracious enough to point it out.
So WL brings out a fresh bowl of salad, which the dude (what a champ) serves up (I passed.) He continues on with his raviolis, but I notice that, after a few bites, the salad is being ignored. I asked if everything was ok, and was told that he found another hair.
One of “those” hairs.
Gag.
Needless to say, our lunch was on the house (ya think?) and we probably won’t be going back to the good ol’ Olive-a Arden-gay anytime in the near future.
And I’m really glad I wasn’t in the mood for salad.
