I wrote a couple of months ago that I finally mastered the art of making pasta. Some people have made light of this, but I think it was a rather great accomplishment. How was I supposed to know what the bowl with holes was for without someone teaching me? The natural thought process is that you'd have to use a hairdryer to suck the water out of the pot, so I'm glad I was taught otherwise. I feel like just standing there with a hairdryer would take a long time.
I've made dinner for myself on numerous occasions, but there are some complications. First, I normally don't have any meat to go with my pasta. I will have seizures if I don't eat an animal every day, but I don't know how to produce meat. My mom used to always serve me chicken with my pasta growing up, but where did she get it from? I originally assumed that she just went to a chicken farm, purchased a chicken and threw it into the oven. However, my girlfriend has made chicken for me before, and we never went to any sort of chicken farm.
One meat thing I can cook is hot dogs. I had no clue how to do that until my girlfriend told me that you just stick them into the pot, light the stove and then take them out when there are bubbles in the water. You can then use that water with the uncooked pasta. Apparently, hot dogs don't take long because they are pre-cooked. Did you know that? I feel sorry for the a**hole who is cooking these hot dogs that he can't eat. What a sorry existence. It's like filming a porno that you can't ever whack off to. Wouldn't you just want to jump off a building? It's no wonder hot-dog cookers lead the country in suicides. It's true, I looked it up.
The second complication is that I don't really have time during the season. Going to Saladworks, Panera Bread or some other eatery is just so much quicker and more convenient. Plus, it helps that there's an Acme right next to Saladworks, so as Emmitt Smith would say, I can kill two stones with one bird by going to that shopping center.
Unfortunately, I've run into a couple of issues at each establishment. I'm sure you're shocked because I never encounter anything that ever bothers me wherever I go. Well, I suppose there's a first time for everything...
I've always enjoyed going to Saladworks. Most of the people who work there are nice, and I love getting rewards for each salad I purchase. For a mere 20 salads, I can get a 21st for free! How exciting is that?
I even got into a fight with another customer there a couple of months ago. I like to sometimes substitute the buffalo chicken with barbeque chicken in my Buffalo Blue salad. This guy wearing a sleeveless shirt ordered a Buffalo Blue as well, so being a connoisseur of food as a fat man, I thought I'd offer some friendly advice:
Me: You should try substituting or adding barbeque chicken into that.
Sleeveless Shirt Guy: Nah, I'll pass.
Me: It's so good though.
Sleeveless Shirt Guy: Nah.
Me: Well, maybe you can try it another time.
Sleeveless Shirt Guy: No. I'm never going to try it.
Me: Why not?
Sleeveless Shirt Guy: Because it sounds stupid.
Me: It's good though. I'm telling you, I come here three times per week, so I know what I'm talking about.
Sleeveless Shirt Guy: Nah, you don't know anything, bro.
Me: Dude, I know my salads!
Sleeveless Shirt Guy: No you don't!
And just like that, Sleeveless Shirt Guy's salad was done, and he walked away. This isn't the reason I'm going to rant about Saladworks though; on the contrary, I enjoy these confrontations with people who have sand in their vages. They're so uptight that it's fun to get under their skin.
It takes a lot for me to get angry - unless food is involved. Then, it's quite easy. All you have to do is take my food away, and I'm furious. As a food connoisseur, I need multiple large meals per day with tons of meat, or I become quite violent.
One unpleasant experience I had at Saladworks actually involved a Chicken Caesar salad I ordered. I always ask for no eggs on mine because eggs should only be eaten during breakfast. Who the hell thought of putting eggs into a salad anyway, especially a Caesar salad? If Julius Caesar would be alive today, he would be pissed off, believe me.
Anyway, when I say I don't want eggs, the people behind the counter ask in response, "Do you want to substitute it with something else?" And I then tell them I want some breaded chicken instead. The ordinary chicken is simply not enough. Breaded chicken makes it all that much better.
I've never had any issues requesting breaded chicken until one fateful day...
Me: I want the Chicken Caesar salad, no eggs.
Saladworks Employee: Do you want to replace the eggs with anything?
Me: Breaded chicken.
Saladworks Employee: You can't do that.
Me: What? Why?
Saladworks Employee: Well, you can, but there will be an upcharge for breaded chicken.
Me: An upcharge? I've always substituted eggs with breaded chicken.
Saladworks Employee: New policy. Substituted meat costs extra.
Extra cost for meat?! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!
What the hell. Why is meat extra now? Don't these people know that I'll have seizures if I don't get my meat? This is such bulls***. It's like they made this rule just to get me.
I didn't even ask what the upcharge would be. It's not like I didn't have extra money with me, but it was just the principle of the matter. Why should I give them extra money if they so blatantly screwed over fat people like myself? I am one pissed-off connoisseur.
Panera Bread is right across the street from Saladworks, so it's not like I'll have to travel farther for dinner if I'm not in the mood for salad. Unfortunately, ordering there can be quite difficult because the lines tend to be longer.
This one recent Friday was ridiculous. I left my house around 6:30. I remember the time because I had people coming over for cards at 7, so I thought I could get to Panera Bread and back in less than a half hour, given that it's just a 5-minute drive.
I walked into Panera Bread and I was more optimistic that I'd get home in time because there were only four people in line with two registers open, and two of the people were a married couple. They were standing behind an old lady, who happened to be the guy's mom, from what I gathered. The fourth person was some teenage douche wearing a sideways baseball cap.
The teenage douche was quite the idiot. He ordered something that cost him $8 and change. He handed the cashier $8 and then walked to the food pick-up area. The cashier had to summon him back.
Cashier: Sir, you still owe 58 cents in change.
Teenage Douche: My bad dogg, I thought you said 8 dollas!
Cashier: Yeah, $8.58. That's because of tax.
Teenage Douche: I didn't know there was tax on dis, yo!
Really? You didn't know you would be taxed at Panera Bread? What sort of country did you think you lived in? One where corrupt politicians don't screw over the public by taxing them out of the a**hole so they can take the money and put it into bogus charities and shell corporations that is used to pay for their sixth mansion and eighth yacht? Because I'd sure as hell love to live there.
Meanwhile, the old lady was taking forever. She was the epitome of an elderly woman trying to pay for something because she was seriously using tons of change to purchase her food. The worst part was that she dropped her change on multiple occasions and would have to begin recounting. The cashier was even helping her, yet this was an eternal process.
Teenage Douche finally paid his magical tax money, so the other cashier summoned for the next person in line. Now, you'd think that the married couple would let me go first, given that they'd have to wait for the husband's mom anyway. That would be common courtesy. Unfortunately, they had none, and they stepped up to the second register. I was infuriated when they had the following exchange in response to the cashier asking them what they'd like to order:
Husband: Oh, what do you think we should get tonight, honey?
Wife: I'm not sure, darling, everything looks so delicious!
F***ing idiots! Why did they not decide what they wanted for dinner when they were waiting in line? Even if they were thinking about it and hadn't come to a conclusion, they could have let me go while they were still weighing their options. But the way they were talking, it didn't seem like they didn't give it a single thought. Not one. So, that begs the question, what the hell were they thinking while standing in line? I imagine them just standing there, their mouths agape, with drool dripping onto the floor. It's a sad state of affairs considering that Teenage Douche was the most mentally capable person out the four in line.
It took the married couple several minutes, but they finally decided on some flatbread bulls***. They were done, yet the old lady was still counting pennies. The man told his mom he'd pick up her food in the back, yet she just nodded obliviously.
I ordered my food rather quickly. Bacon Turkey Bravo, no signature sauce and creamy tomato soup. Boom, just like that. It took me 45 seconds to place my order and properly pay for my food. The cashier looked shocked that I did this so quickly, and I can't blame him for being surprised considering the sorts of idiots he dealt with before me.
Anyway, by the time I picked up my food and drove back home, it was already 7:10. That's right - subtracting 10 minutes for being in the car, I was in Panera Bread for a freaking half hour! How is that even possible? Luckily, none of my friends had yet to arrive, so I was able to prevent my seizures by quickly devouring my bacon-turkey sandwich.
There's a Sbarro at one of the malls 15 minutes from my house. I was with my girlfriend and her brother and his girlfriend, and we were all pretty hungry, so we decided to go to the food court. We all went for different options. My girlfriend was in the mood for a gyro.
Me: What's a gyro?
Girlfriend: It's a sandwich with lamb and other stuff in it. It's good.
Good? More like not good. Lamb didn't sound too appetizing. Of course, I had never tried lamb before. I know that sounds weird, coming from a food connoisseur such as myself, but the only meat I eat comes from chicken, cows or pigs.
I wanted some baked ziti instead, so I waltzed over to the Sbarro. There was some Indian guy in his 20s at the register, and I was behind one person, a husky man with a goatee, so I didn't think it would take very long. Oh, how wrong I was.
The cashier didn't know how to work the register. He rung up the customer and said, "OK, sir, that comes to negative $25.33. Wait, that's not right."
You think? I love how this guy actually had to say it before he realized it was wrong. He tried again.
"OK, sir, that comes to negative $8.64. Uh oh."
What the hell was he doing? Why couldn't he add prices together? And don't registers have absolute-value buttons for idiots like him?
He tried a third time.
"OK, sir, that comes to $0.00. Sorry, sir, this is my first day here."
No s***, Sherlock. He was at least moving in the right direction. One more try, and he'd be in positive territory!
It took this guy a while, but he finally determined that he needed to summon his manager. Minutes later, the manager came over and tried to explain to him how the register worked. Meanwhile, there was now a long line behind me, and the people in it were getting very restless. One bald Indian guy directly behind me shouted, "So, are we going to get to order anytime soon?"
Wow. I hadn't seen an Indian person this upset since the Trail of Tears. Fortunately, his malice forced the manager to occupy the register. After what seemed like hours, I was finally able to order my baked ziti.
Despite this experience, I still love Sbarro. The problem is that there aren't any around me besides this one, and I don't feel like driving 15 minutes just for pasta. After all, I've mastered the bowl with holes, so I can make pasta on my own now.