May 8, 2012 by Kim
and then there was dinner…
But, first was breakfast, breakfast.2 and lunch
The third and final meal of the day took place at 11:31PM
As the sushi place denied that they had the capability to create sushi after 11:30PM, we admitted defeat and trudged over to the cafe
3/3.2 of my Las Vegas meals originated at that damned cafe.
So we walked the familiar pathway, stopping at the familiar “Please Wait to be Seated” sign
and we waited
A waitress approached and we declared ourselves to be a party of 7
3 couples and me, by my lonesome…
Are you asking yourself where the ever-present Hubs was?
Well…apparently having a purse thrown in your general direction isn’t the romantic gesture that it used to be. Having had dealt with my hissy fits in the past, Hubs wisely waited until I had barricaded myself into our hotel room’s bathroom and removed himself from the situation… When antagonized it’s usually a choice of fight or flight. He knows better than to fight with my lunatic ass, so he flighted his ass right down to the Texas Hold-em tables…
So, back to our stay at the “Please Wait to be Seated” sign… After learning the correct amount of chairs and menus that our table would need, our waitress scurried away. 5 to 10 minutes later a second waitress approached us, asking if we had been assisted. We told her yes, but that Waitress #1 had disappeared. Waitress #2 stated that she would go look into our table situation and raced away. When a 3rd server approached us, another 5 to 10 minutes later, asking us if we had been helped; we pretty much dog-piled on top of him and begged him not to leave.
They keep leaving… but, they’re not coming back….
Don’t go! Just find out about the table, from here.
We were immediately led to a shadowy table in the furthest depths of the cafe. The section in which we were seated contained no evidence of ever having hosted any form of human life.
As we all sat down, Tiny Racer produced a pair of fugitive chop-sticks that he had lifted from the sushi-nazi’s restaurant…proudly declaring himself to be the newly self-appointed most masterful chop-stick utilizer in all the world… other than China.
As he showcased his talent by picking up various sugar packets and pinching his fiance’s arm(who from here on out will be referred to as Tiny Fiance “TF” … at least until they get hitched), a waitress arrived to take our drink orders. She did not seem to be a very happy waitress and we couldn’t understand why… Didn’t she know that she was in the presence of chop-stick wielding greatness? 4 ice waters, 1 Coke and 1 lemon with ice water later and she was not amused. As she walked away to collect our drinks the question of how she would possibly remember all 7 of those drink orders sprang forth…
“Because we basically ordered 6 waters and a Coke…”
The dialog from the moment we received our drinks to the time we placed our food orders was the kind of conversation you participate in when you’re nearing a certain level of hung-over, sleep-deprivation.
I enthusiastically pimped out the goodness that is known as the Nugget Nachos and explained how these delightful nachos had found their place in every meal that I had consumed, since we had arrived. I used adjectives that I had never heard of before and drew pictures of said nachos in the air, for all to see… I believe my Nugget Nacho Showcase may have lasted a good 20 minutes, in itself.
The fabulous and exciting game of Keno was briefly discussed and TF’s BFF (who shall be nick-named later in this entry) attempted to convey her disgust with the game, claiming that it was nearly impossible to win…
“No! That game is horrible! There is an ASTRONOMICAL chance of winning!!!”
and she stated her fact, exactly as written… Bold – Caps Loc and all…
I stared at her, baffled…
“Ummm….do you know what you just said???”
For the next 7 minutes I attempted to explain that her choice of words had insinuated that the game was actually a sure win.
It sunk in and we laughed like crazy people for another 7 minutes
and for the next half an hour the word “astronomical” was enthusiastically used in every 3rd sentence we uttered.
TR and his tiny chop-sticks were finally thwarted when we challenged him to pick up a butter knife that was laying in front of him. He claimed to have picked it up on his 9th try, but everyone at the table called foul and stated that his thumb was also touching the knife.
Game over, TR.
As the waiter made his way to our table, to collect our food orders, I was struck with a humiliating thought…
All 3 couples were going to request that their couple-food be placed on one check
2 people, 1 check… 2 people, 1 check… 2 people, 1 check… and then me
“The cheese stands alone…”
When it was my turn to order, I wasn’t even given the chance to be brave and admit my solo-idity. Before I could even take a breath to push the words out of my mouth the waiter interjected…
“So… this goes on a check all by itself, right???”
“The cheese stands alone”
I mumbled yes, my order and some unintelligible profanity… and sent him on his way to the next duo
I believe, at this point, that the waiter may have taken a vow to make my ego miserable for the rest of this cafe experience. I vaguely heard him insinuate that I was TF’s mom… he asked, when the food was delivered, if I was going to need another plate and I swear he fashioned the total on my bill into the shape of a sad face…
and at some point, when I wasn’t looking, he brought TF’s BFF into the mix…
As I glanced at my older very NON-smart phone she noticed it and exclaimed that she once had that VERY SAME PHONE… like 16 years ago… right after she gotten rid of her pager…
“Hi Ho the Dairy-o, The cheese stands alone”
My current phone is a definite sore spot… it’s old, the keyboard slides out, it’s not “smart” and it doesn’t make any kind of sound
I hung my head in shame and prayed that she would fail to notice the Wal-Mart shirt I was wearing…
as we got up to leave, she decided to try one last attempt to solidify my disdain towards myself.
…and I’m thinking that it’s about time we nick-name her ass
TF’s BFF… will from here on out be dubbed “The Librarian Without a Facebook Account”
Or “The Librarian”, for short…
…and considering there’s only maybe…. 3 people who don’t have Facebook accounts, it shouldn’t be that hard to figure out.
The Librarian plotted to steal one of my flip-flops
…while I was still wearing it
If you’ve ever had someone stick their entire foot underneath your entire foot, while you’re wearing a flip-flop, you know that it will make you stop dead in your tracks… It’s like instant brakes.
… like most of my life