Well, I managed to successfully pass along my cold to Rick, even though I was very careful about washing my hands/not drinking out of the same glass/etc. Maybe I shouldn’t have sneezed onto his pillow every night before I went to sleep… oh well. No sense worrying about it now. What’s done is done. It’s been interesting to see all the same symptoms I had manifesting themselves in the exact same way and following the exact same timeline with Rick. First the scratchy throat… then the head congestion… then the fever… Actually, it hasn’t been EXACTLY the same – last week at this time, I couldn’t smell or taste a thing. But Rick has managed to hold on to all five of his senses. Well, that just doesn’t seem fair. Perhaps it’s just been delayed. Perhaps Rick will lose his sense of smell and taste tomorrow. I mean, I refuse to allow last week’s misery to be without Rick's company… (just kidding, Rick… maybe… :))
So since we’ve spent the last two weekends eating copious amounts of chicken noodle soup (and since Rick’s illness is at the “end of fever” stage so he’s feeling a bit better), we decided to go out to eat tonight. We went to Chili’s with mom and dad, and I ordered the boneless buffalo chicken salad. But apparently my much-too-quiet voice once again betrayed me (as it did a few years ago when I was at a steak place and ordered a steak “medium well” but the waiter heard “medium rare”) – because my “boneless buffalo chicken salad” somehow morphed into “boneless buffalo chicken fajitas” by the time dinner arrived. (Really? Did it really sound like “fajitas” when I said “salad”?? It sure sounded like salad to me…)
But, me being the nice, patient, benefit-of-the-doubt-giving person I am, I decided to just go ahead and try the fajitas instead of waiting for the kitchen to make the salad. And the waiter seemed so surprised by my reaction – it was like, “really? You’ll just eat what I brought you? But most people complain and yell and get angry! Wow…” And when he came back to ask us how everything was, and I said the fajitas were good (although I have to admit not quite as good as the salad I’d really wanted), he once again seemed amazed that I was such an amiable good-sport about my screwed up dinner order.
It reminded me of when my older brother Robert ran a little restaurant on Lake Mohawk in New Jersey. He used to tell me that he’d never let me wait tables at the restaurant, because he knew the patrons would eventually make me cry. I guess there’s a lot of angry complaining aimed toward table servers at restaurants, and little Lisa is much too sensitive to handle it. (Actually, Bob is probably right… I really don’t like it when people yell at me…) So I have to assume that most people aren’t as forgiving as I tend to be when a dinner order isn’t what’s expected. I have to assume that most people would’ve flung that sizzling skillet of fajitas onto the floor and demanded the salad, as originally ordered.
And maybe I SHOULD have done that, because the waiter went ahead and CHARGED us for the fajitas, even though I ordered the salad (the salad was about three dollars cheaper). So instead of showing some appreciation for my quiet acquiescence and offering me a free dessert or appetizer, the waiter actually charged MORE than if I had demanded what I’d really ordered. That just seems wrong.
Next time, I am SO gonna make the waiter cry…
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