- By Henry Stark
- Around Town
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I eat out a lot because one of my great enjoyments is sharing my life with various friends over lunch as we try new restaurants. For example, I’m a member of a group called ROMEO. We meet every other Tuesday and lunch always includes sophomoric rapid-fire banter and quips, with the same half-dozen men. Have you heard of ROMEO? It’s a rather casual and loose-knit organization that has branches in various locations across the country. The initials stand for Retired Old Men Eating Out. However, it’s not all peaches and cream - sometimes I get into a less than wonderful situation, with unfamiliar people – like last Friday.
Anyway, Friday morning I was invited to join a lady, whom I barely knew, for lunch. She phoned me around 10:30 and asked if I would join her at a local Thai restaurant downtown. I thought it would be fun and a change of pace from my normal eating patterns. I don’t know about the fun part but it sure turned out to be a change of pace!
She picked me up an hour later in her vintage van. I had a difficult time getting into the front seat because there was no place I could put my feet. I didn’t want to crush the assortment of water bottles that were rolling around the floor or hurt my arch on one of the umbrellas. However I was able to gently, but deftly, kick some bottles aside and create a bit of room for each of my feet.
The van smelled and my companion had the heater going full blast so I immediately tried to lower my window. No matter how hard I pushed and pulled the button that I thought would liberate some of the hot air, nothing worked. My friend, let’s call her ummmm, Maud, told me that it was broken and she was meaning to get it fixed but the estimate was for $400 and she wasn’t in a hurry.
Maud advised me that, before we went to the restaurant, she had to pick up, “just a few things” at Wegman’s and asked would I mind. In fact, I did mind but didn’t feel it appropriate to say anything. After our Wegman’s detour, Maud headed for the restaurant, which I’m familiar with because I had reviewed it twice.
As we waited for a red light, I was aware of the directional signal clicking its rhythmic and monotonous beat. I glanced over at Maud’s dashboard and noticed she was signaling for a left turn when, in fact, the restaurant was down the road to the right. Trying my best to sound casual, I mentioned it to her and she replied, “Oh, I know that. Don’t worry, I was going to make a right. Sometimes I signal the wrong way but I don’t do it on purpose.”
We arrived safely and were seated at a table. When the server came to take our order, Maud asked a whole slew of questions about tweaking the menu to her satisfaction: could she substitute almonds for cashews in the Cashew Chicken? Would it be possible to change the string beans to tofu in another entrée? etc.
After we had ordered, I finally had the opportunity to get to know Maud a bit. She mentioned that it was raining hard and as I turned to look out the window, I heard a loud foghorn-type blaring coming from the direction of the dining room. I quickly turned to find Maud loudly blowing her nose, into the cloth napkin. Apparently, there was quite a bit of congestion up there as Maud blew, and blew, and blew. Believe me, it was loud!
To my surprise, dismay, may I say, horror, Maud casually deposited the aforementioned napkin on the table, between us. Granted, it was slightly closer to her than half way but how big do you think the table was in the first place! Maud excused herself to head off to the restroom and the napkin stayed there, taunting me, tempting me to push it away, but the idea of touching it repelled me and I didn’t.
The nose blowing sequence was repeated two more times, same repetitions, same napkin placement. After we had finished, the server removed Maud’s plate and napkin. I could only imagine after the server’s hands had touched that very-much-utilized napkin, where her hands were subsequently placed. I was hoping that she’d wash them before she picked up clean plates and silverware to set other tables.
The four people who had been sitting next to us finished their meal, paid the check and departed. After they were out the door, Maud looked over at the dirty dishes remaining on the adjacent table. Her eyes lit up as she noticed a metal serving boat with peanut sauce.
“I just love peanut sauce! Do you like peanut sauce? Would it bother you, Henry, if I took the peanut sauce home with me?” I graciously responded that it wouldn’t bother me at all. Maud got up, went to the vacated table, picked up the dish with the peanut sauce, brought it back to our table, opened up the zippered bag she had brought with her, extracted a covered plastic dish, removed the cover, scooped the peanut sauce into the plastic dish, recovered the dish, put the dish back in her zipper bag, pulled the zipper, and looked at me with quiet satisfaction.
OK, you get the idea. I don’t need to go into detail about the problem with the water glasses, the belated request for separate checks for two entrees, each of which only cost $7.95, etc. All I want to tell you, at this point, is that I don’t think I’ll be in a hurry to join Maud for another meal anytime soon. And frankly, I’m really looking forward to next Tuesday when I can resume my normal sophomoric, rapid-fire banter and quips with my retired old friends.
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