I could easily be accused of being a creature of habit. Typically around lunch time, I'll have at the most three restaurants that I'll go to, where I'll choose one of three different items on their respective menus. I'm not sure if you'd chalk this up as being an obsessive compulsive nut, but so what. I like what I like and I've gotten myself set in a routine. If anything my frequent patroning of certain restaurants is a good thing. I 100% guarantee you there is at least two places in town that I am personally keeping afloat with the business that I give it on a weekly basis.
But when is my frequent visits to a restaurant too much? Maybe it's when the person I'm calling my order in knows what I want. Maybe it's when they know the exact amount of ice to put in my sweet tea (I always ask for light ice). Or maybe it's when the cashier that I see on a weekly basis begins to start up asks how work is or mentions that they haven't seen me in a while after I've been out of town.
Maybe, but no. Today I learned the perfect sign that I frequent a restaurant too much.
As I mentioned before there's a couple of delis in town that I alone could keep in business for years to come and one in particular I visited earlier this afternoon. Everything went as normal. I ordered, paid and made my way down the line to where I normally pick up my order. Then suddenly I heard it in the back where the skilled sandwich techicians were working on other orders.
"Hey it's Tuna guy," bellowed one of the guys in the back about as loud as anyone could do inside of a crowded restaurant. Immediately everyone's head turns to me. As if I'm the only guy in the world that would order tuna? There has to be someone else in the line - some greasy hippie or yoga instructor - that looks more like a tuna person than me. Looking back I should have looked at the person next to me and said something like, "How humiliating for you? What're you some kind of a tuna addict?" Everyone would have a nice laugh at their expense and I'd get away scot free. However hindsight is 20/20 and I'm more a 10/15.
Instead I went all idiot with this gem.
"Tuna's good for your heart with all the uhhhh omegas....omega twos or threes or whatever."
"Have a good one Tuna guy," sandwich dude waved.
But oh no, I wasn't even about ready to let this go.
"So this makes us feel special. Give the regulars a name after what they order. How inventive." I tried to play on sandwich dude's lack of self-confidence as a lowly deli-worker.
"Exactly." he said.
So much for that strategy.
"Tuna's not the only thing I ever order here. What about the days I order the sliced beef?"
"Angus Beefman," he answered.
"Ham?"
"Honey Baked Homie"
"Chicken?"
"Cock a Doodle Dude"
That one was actually kind of cool. I had nothing left to argue my case. I was officially a regular. Destined to endure the humiliation of being called Tuna guy or whatever else they had planned for that day on as regular a basis as I visited that particular deli. I could decide not to visit that place ever again. Put my foot down and demand respect, but every fellow regular knows that you'll just keep coming back. You might change your timing a little to avoid the wise-cracking sandwich makers, but you'll always be back, because you're an addict.
No comments:
Post a Comment