Gym Clothes
My neighbor, Bob, is the master of cheap eats. With his friend, Al, he dines every Tuesday at out local correctional institute. Subsidized lunch served by felons embarked on new careers costs a buck sixty-two.
Last week, Bob brought his wife, Mary, to the local technical school for lunch. The public cafeteria provides inexpensive meals while some high school students learn the ins and outs of restaurant work.
Bob’s approached by a sixteen year old from whom he orders his meal, and then he engages Mary in conversation. Time flies and after a while Bob wonders what happened to his roast beef sandwich and French onion soup. Until he spies his waitress, now dressed in gym clothes, leaving the room.
Mrs Rakkity and I used to call Bob’s experience at the tech school the “Italian Waiter Syndrome”. Whenever we ate in Baltimore’s Little Italy, we’d be chatting away over our half-finished (delectable) fettucini or linguini, and if we weren’t hanging onto our plates, they’d be deftly swept out before we could complain. I finally got in the habit of resting my left thumb on the edge of the plate, so I’d catch the waiter in the act of purloinment. Now, no Italian waiter, no matter how deft, can steal my eats.
Comment by rakkity — November 21, 2007 @ 1:02 am
Except that’s after you actually received the meal. My read of Bob’s experience is that food never arrived. And if it was time for PE, it was probably too late to get a replacement.
Comment by Jennifer — November 23, 2007 @ 10:35 pm