Me, at Famous Dave’s in Greenwood, Indiana, last night: “These were inedible. I literally couldn’t eat them.”
Teen Manager: “That’s okay. Those are the rib tips.” Short pause. “It’s our first night serving cod.”
The Red One* and I have been to Famous Dave’s several times in our life together, sometimes for carry-out and occasionally to eat in, like we’re fancy.
And Friday night, Famous Dave’s decided not to provide forks or to heat the food.
We paid and then asked to speak to the manager. The manager, all fifteen years of her*, said that the food being cold was no problem and sorry about that, but one of the orders had to wait on the other, you know. “Not that that’s an excuse.”
We pointed out that a massive portion of the food was, actually, literally inedible: it couldn’t be chewed, let alone swallowed.
Her response: “That’s okay. Those are the rib tips. It’s our first night serving cod.”
Well, not that that’s an excuse.
I’d be pretty irritated about the Famous Dave’s experience and all because hey, you’re a meat palace and if there’s an inability to chew/swallow/digest the leathery, cold, reptilian non-food that passes as meat in the palace, well, there goes your neighborhood.
Except, much like Lacey Chabert in the film classic Mean Girls, I want to start a new slang. I really hope it catches on. But for now and forever in my little world, anything that goes wrong can be immediately absolved and/or explained with the following catechism: “That’s okay. Those are the rib tips. It’s our first night serving cod.”
* “The Red One” refers to Greenwood Red, my best dining companion. You can follow him on Twitter.