That Girl

Some friends and I went out to dinner this past weekend. The waiter took our order. For me - Cobb Salad, dressing on the side please. No crazy ordering a la Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally. Just a salad. Our five entrees came out and a salad was placed in front of me. The dressing was so not on the side. I didn't want to be that girl; you know, the one who sends back her salad because the dressing wasn't on the side. So I started to eat it. I was hungry. Several bites in I started thinking. I know I wouldn't order a salad with crispy chicken. Where's the avocado? Or hard boiled egg? Or cheese? Okay, this is not my salad. So, after being convinced by everyone to get the right salad, I became that girl; the one who sends back her salad because it's the wrong one.

Ever see the movie Waiting? Yeah, me neither. People at the table were telling stories about this movie. Apparently wait staff spit in people's food (and a whole lot worse). Oh but don't worry, that won't happen here. Nice try for assurance guys.

The waiter brought me the right salad and after taking a quick glance around the plate for any 'extras', I ate the grilled chicken, avocado, cheese, hard boiled egg etc with a smile.

A little while later the manager came over and told us that my salad was on the house. After another reference to Waiting in his presence, he assured me that no one spit in my food. They don't do that kind of thing there. That's what they all say.

So, I then became that girl; the one who only has to pay for her drink because someone else screwed up her order. Now I like that girl. I really don't mind someone else picking up the dinner tab.