Friday, July 31, 2009

shit pickle...and sleepwear

A few minutes before noon I'm wandering out of the bedroom, bleary eyed and smashing my fists into my eyes to get the crunchy sleep crust out and look up to figure out what Poncho is yapping at. (Poncho is my 9 year old Chihuahua/Rat terrier tough-guy)

There in my kitchen is the smiling, wide awake and ready to roll husband. He's far too chipper. I'm always ready to kick his ass when I first wake up.
On the weekends he's the hateful one, impossible to get out of bed before 2 p.m. but during the week - once he's on his feet he's go-go-go. We do not share the same sleep habits, it causes a bit of discombobulation between us but come Friday 6 p.m. I try to offset my ridiculous sleeping habits so that we can spend quality time together.

This last week has been particularly hellish on me, my all over aches and pains from myalgia are 'giving me the fits (granny would say). I stay up far too late every night, up on the computer until I'm falling asleep with the laptop across my chest, my mouth slightly agape and quiet snores escaping my nose and my lips fluttering while I blow raspberries.

He's in the kitchen at the sink doing only God knows what and I give him my surprised WTF look. He asks me, "what would you like for lunch?"

This has become our cha-cha, our little dance that goes no where but the same 3 steps for the longest time.
What would you like? I don't know, what do you want? I don't know just pick something...and it starts all over again.
what do you want.
I don't know what do you want.
just pick something.

Sheepishly he suggests that we go to a particular deli on the main strip in town because he fancies a certain sandwich, plus it would take far less time to have someone prepare it than go through the refrigerator and find the fixin's and whip up something even half as tasty.

He's eyeballing me and waiting to see if I concur. He's also looking to see if I'm going to put something half way decent on instead of the awful pajamas that are stained from years of bathing greasy ol' Sphynx cats, scrubbing floors, what appears to have been at least one oil change as well as some dried raw ground turkey thighs.

Sleepwear for me is an art form, because its become my lounge-wear and knock around the house wear. Anyone that has the tiniest understanding of chronic pain and its relativity to your daily activities will know that your comfort level is of the utmost importance.
What you wear can help determine how you react to the rest of what happens throughout the day. One might not have control on anything else that is pitched in their direction but being able to move freely without being bound up - well that is a choice made with confidence!

Does it have to be attractive, I think not!?! If it were appealing, well then we'd have a major problem on our hands. we mustn't tempt fate by enticing lust throughout the day, its enough for the hubby to gaze upon this face in all it's Botticellian magnificence (coughbullshitcough).

With THE look given to me I take this clue and head back to my lair, dark and welcoming and look to the several different outfits I've exchanged this week for such jaunts out of the home front. I figure this (reference how I don't need to look spiffy) 1 pair of clean jeans will last several lunch dates out on the town. Most lunches take less than 75 minutes from Home to Lunch and back to Home. Long as I don't drop a glob of ketchup or some cream gravy on my lap or on my tits I'm all set to wear the same thing again another day with a good spritz with Febreeze!

I've donned my street-wear, casting a sad parting glance to my mismatched garb that brings me comfort, I exit stage left and we head out to grab a bite to eat.

This is where I get to insert permission from the manager on duty.
Generally I keep the names out of my blogs, maybe just small references and you can figure out from my little hints but I protect the innocent or the idiots alike.

There's only one thing I order when I'm there and there's only a couple of things he orders when he's there. With every meal they bring a lone pickle which is placed along your plate.
Pickles are not my favorite condiment or accompaniment for sandwiches but I can understand how others enjoy them. Frankly (insert humor) I only like relish on my hot dogs, once in a great while I like to snack on sweet baby gherkins but I'm not a fan of the Kosher spear.

We step up to the counter and the first thing my big mouth blurts out is "OMG you are GORGEOUS!" This is absolutely true, the young lady working the register has eyes the color of jade and she looks like she's stepped right out of a Bollywood film.

Placing our order is always a melodrama because I never want mustard on my food, and the hubby hates tomatoes. On this particular sammich he's decided today he will forgo the mustard also.
Somewhere between telling her to 86 the tomato/mustard and having another worker come over and ask her what menu item # was she deleting these from because she'd forgotten to hit the correct key on the register while I was flirting with her (I guess its distracting to have a couple in their 40s hitting on you in some sick swingers sort of way when you're just barely out of high school) and she totally didn't charge me for the 2 tasty cookies I palmed out of the basket on the counter!

I'm still flapping my jaw for another second and the man's stalked off to search for a seat, the place is a madhouse during the lunch hour. Finding a booth is what we'd prefer, it's never spoken why but really its because we've both got big asses and a booth allows for us to spread out a bit! I like to kick off my shoes and put my feet up on the seat across from me too. Additionally, I usually have a gigantic bag or purse & sometimes the laptop case..who knows what else. I need room for my traveling office.

Husband's habit (I find annoying)is to find the farthest point away from the door/register for a seat. If I were to meet him for a meal by way of coming in a separate vehicle all I would have to do is head straight back and then look both ways and he'd be at one of the two ends of the restaurant.
This time he's chosen the end closest to the restroom. Naturally I comment on this, but I'll withhold for now.
Our placard sitting at the forefront of the table to alert the delivery wait-person, we sit and begin our catching up time. I'm already commenting on how disgusting I find the situation 2 tables down from us.
There is a couple of young parents fully engrossed in their baby that's sitting in a store provided booster, they have bits and pieces of food all over the table and the baby's mealy little paws are smearing it about. Mom and dad are all smiles, not a concern in the world while in my minds eye I see all of the filthy germs and organisms that are living on that table they for CERTAIN did not sanitize before setting food down.
What I'm really hoping for most of all, not the safety of that child but that the child doesn't start the squalling, whiney crap that they do when they don't get what they want or when they DO get what they want and they peel with happiness at the top of those tiny lungs. Just please, please child stay silent.

Only a few minutes pass and along comes our food. I'm looking forward to mine because I haven't had a french dip that didn't agree with me. He seems almost content with his except he's said, after the girl started to walk away - look at this pickle!
well you know me and this has become a moment of great excitement.
A moment of 'BLOG'!

This pickle is sad.
This pickle still has pickle vine attached to it.
This pickle looks as if the baby 2 seats down, with it's toothless grin, has placed the entire 4" of it's length into his maw and tried chomping it in a few places. The action has bruised the tender pickle flesh left divots but not actually taken out the meat of the pickle but has given the perception of missing mass.

I'm getting ready to take a picture of this tragic pickle when the server returns to ask how our meal is. I've asked that a replacement be brought back for our dining delight as this one does not suit our appetite. Perhaps pickles do not impart such importance in the lives of other people but I was going to be sure that the hubby would enjoy every taste and delight of his meal.
(Seriously, McCallister's is one damn expensive deli and you'd better clean your plate mister!)

Our young server waits while the photo is taken, I've alerted her to my intentions of letting Corporate know of my disappointment ...and she returns with not one but TWO tasty replacements.
Now this is what I'm talking about, but no sooner are we deep into our discussion again and the newly approved preserved cucumbers are tasted than I spy out of the corner of my eye...what appears to be the manager on duty.
Yes indeed and he looks ready to take on the world, a clipboard in the hand and a confident smile on his face...he just wasn't ready for me!

"I hear you have a problem here"
I smile at him and I begin with, "oh no, no problem any longer"
He stands there, towering over us which by itself is a situation I am never happy with. Some people love to have that physical power over another, when they can place their presence physically over you, where you are cornered and have no option but to wiggle and squirm under their stare.
This however does not work much with me because I will physically move you if necessary. Perhaps you've heard the saying? I'll CUT a bitch.

He's waiting however so I begin with, "Your kitchen sent out an unsatisfactory pickle. If you were the customer, would you want to eat this? I know that your pickles come in a 5 gallon pail and tossing out one ugly pickle would not cost you as much as possibly losing a regular customer. Because you chose to put poor quality out, you could have lost a customer.
(luckily I've been in food service and understand the mechanics of a kitchen)
The kitchen should have managerial decision making at the food preparation level, that pickle should not have been placed on a plate but worse yet, the server should have seen it and not delivered it either. "

This guy is so taken aback, he does a nervous half step back from the table and a little laugh and agrees with me. "your right, absolutely right. Yes, our pickles come from a 5 gallon pail and yes we should have been more selective. I will have a talk with them"

Customer 1
Manager 0

In an age when money is running tighter and tighter, every company is striving to entice us into their doors to spend what little we have - I strongly recommend that your quality of services be equivalent to what we are paying for.

It would have been nothing for me to have demanded further satisfaction and started to point out the dirty tables, the smeared pictures hanging on walls, the dust collecting on the memorabilia on the walls... instead I just wanted a delicious and appealing pickle on my plate, not a shitpickle

now try to get this little youtube funny out of your'll be tattooed on your brain forever.