The Crankee Yankee and I stopped in for a bite (and to use a coupon) at a well-known restaurant whose name rhymes with Scooby Boozeday’s. We both chose a menu item that came with the salad bar.
Now the salad bar at this restaurant is great. It has a wonderful selection of fresh vegetables, including edamame, and also some excellent ready-made salads; potato, broccoli and cheese, and pasta, peas and ham. There is also a good choice of dressings, plus homemade croutons, chopped bacon (REAL bacon, BTW), sunflower seeds, and so on. Quite frankly, half of the attraction of eating there is the salad bar.
Our waitress, like all of the servers there, was attentive and perky, and like all the other servers, called us “guys.” That’s one of those non-sexual, sort-of-friendly-but-indiscriminate appellations that a lot of servers use to cover males and females of all ages. (For the Who Really Cares Record, I don’t like it—why can’t they just call us “folks?” But that’s a gripe for another post.)
Back to our well-meaning waitress: we had no sooner forked up a mouthful of our salads when she popped out of nowhere saying, “So! How are you doing with the salad bar?”
Uh–what? How were we doing with the salad bar? I so badly wanted to say, “Well! Thank you for asking! It was quite an adventure! You see, we walked up to the salad bar, picked up our plates, and–wait for it: WE FILLED OUR PLATES WITH SALAD! IT WAS INCREDIBLE! Then we brought the salads back to our table so we could eat our salads. What a concept: you pick out your own salad items and then eat them!!!”
But I didn’t. I just smiled at her, hoping that the mouthful of salad I had wouldn’t leak out of the corners of my mouth. I mean really–what do they expect you to say?
The same happened with our entrees and drinks. Now I admire people with enthusiasm and a dedication to their work. I waitressed myself through the last two years of college to pay my tuition, and I understand that serving people food is often, well—challenging. I did admire this young and earnest gal who was doing her level best to make sure that we were happy with our food. I observed her with other people as well, and she was upbeat, attentive and friendly.
Finally, I looked at the Crankee Yankee, smiled and said, “Buddy, we are old and crabby, aren’t we?”
Without missing a mouthful, he cheerfully replied, “Yup, we sure are.”
We gave her a big tip, headed out to the car, limping slightly because our knees are getting a little wonky (and because we’re old), got in, looked at each other, and laughed our heads off.
That was our big adventure at the salad bar. When you’re near one, do stop in at good old Scooby Boozeday’s and have the salad bar. Oh, and those little “mini” burgers, too. They’re pretty good and they go well with the salad bar.
Remember to tip your server generously, even if they do call you “guys.”