When Mr. Twistie and I eat out, we have a few tried and true places we tend to go to. These are places that have good food at reasonable prices, and where we feel taken care of. In fact, the place where we breakfast every saturday morning is just two blocks from our home and everyone there knows our names, as well as what we’re going to drink with our meals (latte for me, iced tea for him). For the past two years I’ve even baked the proprietor’s birthday cake. She adores lemon pound cake.
So when we’re eating out, we usually are in very safe waters where we know what to expect.
For one reason and another, though, we’ve found ourselves going out to some less familiar places of late. Some have been fabulous. There was the little Brazilian place where the owner greeted us like family and the seafood risotto was a dream. Some have been… less fabulous, but at least not a horrible experience. And let’s face it, not every restaurant can blow me away with the food they produce.
Then there’s the phenomenon I’ve run across several times in the past few months that really gets under my skin.
At least six times in the past five months, I’ve wound up with a server who wants to bond over dieting while I’m trying to eat. With the menu, I get the server moaning low about how fat she is. Invariably, she’s a great deal thinner than I am. And then I get the knowing wink and nod about how I must hate how fat I am, too.
Then comes the talk about how she never exercises after work because she’s so ‘lazy.’ Seriously? If your job is waiting tables in a busy restaurant, you’re getting all the exercise your body actually needs just carrying those heavy trays and walking back and forth between the kitchen and every table in your station so many times in an eight-hour shift. Still, she wants me to agree that she’s lazy and unmotivated and obviously I know what that’s like, don’t I? Wink, wink.
Sure, the dessert menus will be offered, but almost with an apology, and certainly with an arch air of ‘I won’t tell the diet police what a pig you were if you don’t tell on me!’
The bizarre thing is I honestly think these servers (mostly, but not exclusively, women working in family style restaurants) believe this is a style of service that isn’t insulting, isn’t potentially harmful, and really makes us buddies.
They even continue to prattle on about the evils of eating after I say I make pointed comments that this isn’t something I wish to discuss. They do it when I’m wearing my scarlet fat necklace or my What You Can Tell About Fat People By Looking At Them graph tee shirt.
Has anyone else been running across this lately, or is it just me? If anyone else has run across this, have you found any way to head it off at the pass?
After all, I’m trying to eat.