A Dining Experience

While I'm waiting to find out what the AMA has planned for us today, I thought I'd let you know how our Fifteenth Anniversary dinner went last weekend. I should be doing chores right now, but blogging the experience will be good practice for the letter I plan to write to the head of the company.

All by himself, Rich made reservations at a top notch steak house in Fairlawn. He decided to do something totally different—somewhere we'd never been. He selected the place because a few years ago I had visited one of these restaurants while in Columbus., OH and talked about how wonderful it was for weeks. Impeccable food and probably the best dining service I had ever received. Needless to say, we were looking forward to the evening. Rich told the gentleman on the phone that this was a special wedding anniversary for us...

Last Saturday came and as always I was on pins and needles just because it's hard to make plans when you never know how the cancer wants to play. As the day wore on I tried to stay positive while I prepared myself for the disappointment of not going. Rich's blood sugars were all over the place, I kept nagging him to eat every couple of hours. All he wanted to do was sleep. He had several two hour naps. At four o'clock I started hinting that we might want to cancel our 6:30 reservations, but Rich was having NONE of that.

I kept moving forward, preparing to stop. I actually got dressed up. Hope ya'll are sitting down because I wore a dress. Rich struggled and managed to get a shower and dressed, and by the time we left the house his smile seemed genuine.

We arrive on the dot and are shown to our romantic table for two. Red Flag number One. They seated us at one of those curved booth tables that seat six side by side. I'll repeat that. The only way to sit was side by side. So much for that all-critical, courtship eye contact that they talk about on the Discovery Channel. The girl who seated us struggled to pull it out far enough for us to slide in. I'm thinking if Rich has to dash to the restroom we're screwed.

After awhile we asked for and received water, Rich received his beer in a bottle and I was curious as to why all the other diners received chilled Pilsner glasses. But not Rich. Red Flags Two Three and Four.

Our salads arrived on HOT plates—probably just out of the dishwasher so, woo-hoo, they're clean!!!

By this time, and we were sipping, we were ready for another drink. But nobody asked.

Sitting side by side as we were it was more like being in a movie than a romantic dinner. I tried to distract myself by watching the dining room in front of us and listing to the kitchen chatter directly behind us. Rich pointed out the Happy Anniversary card sitting on our table. That's nice.
Gradually my attention is focused to the table directly in front of with six happy diners who are being doted on by our shared waiter. With an open bottle of wine on their table, he scurried around to make sure he kept their glasses at their proper level; scurried away and returned with more bread; whisked away dirty plates and glasses. At 7:50 I turned to Rich and tried to smile, which probably didn't look like a smile because when I have to rotate my neck 90 degrees I get a shooting pain down my right arm.

The gift of a fifteen year honeymoon is that he can often read my mind, and once in awhile he does it at the right time. We grabbed our coats (no, no one offered to take them at the front) and muscled our way out from behind our table. By the time we reached the front desk, three people in suits descended upon us and I was almost disappointed that they weren't security threatening to charge me for walking the bill. But no.

Rich tells me that I don't understand what happens when I get truly angry. He says my voice gets so quiet you have to lean in to hear me, and every word slips out like honey wrapped in a snarl, fire comes out of my eyes, smoke comes out of my ears, and in general I exude an energy that would back down the Devil. I don't know about that, I just wanted the bill. That's when they wanted to know what was wrong, it went like this:

“Nothing's wrong”, I smiled, “I just want the bill so we can leave.”

Asshole no. 2: “No, no, we want to know what's wrong.”

ME: “Apparently our presence is creating a hardship for your staff, so we're going to correct that.”

Asshole no. 3: “Oh no, we'll clear the check.”

Meanwhile Rich is explaining to Asshole No. 1 the details of our 80 minute dining experience.

ME: “I did not come here for a free meal. We came for a special occasion. I'd like to pay for what we received.”

Asshole no 2. “Wasn't your table decorated?”

At that, I could begin to feel the heat coming off me. I just looked at him like he had two heads.

Now Asshole no 3. comes running back to the scene from the netherworld and announces with great relief that our meals are now ready and being boxed up for us.

ME: “Sir, you REALLY do not want me to tell you where to place those meals.”

Asshole No 1. still wants to discuss things.

ME: “Look, you folks are way too busy here to be disturbed by us. Have a nice night.”

When he forced his business card into my hand and asked me to call him later because he just wants to make this right...... I almost pulled the muzzle off of Scrapper. Instead I moved closer to him and he backed up and I whispered “You have no idea what happened here and YOU can't fix it.”

All I remember are the words that were exchanged. Rich had to explain how it went down from an observer's (his) perspective. For me, I wouldn't even recognize them if I ran into them again. For me it was like experiencing the whole thing through billowing red gauze. All the way home I kept asking Rich, “I didn't raise my voice, did I?” “I didn't embarrass you, did I?” Rich just laughed. He said he didn't say much because it was more fun to watch me. I've had so much practice I could teach a Doctoral course in idiots and assholes.

On the way home we decided to stop at our favorite place—Prime 93 on Manchester Road in Portage Lakes. THEY made it right.