A friend and I went out to eat last night. We wanted Italian, so we stopped by a local restaurant just before closing. The eatery appeared questionable (filled to the brim with unsavory family-type characters) but our waitress was fantastic. Not only did she accommodate our eccentric behavior, but she went the extra mile to make our dining experience that much more exciting. Case in point: this restaurant (which shall remain unnamed so as to protect a certain bonkers automobile/entertainment mogul) had an item on the menu that promised a supposedly monstrous meatball (the size of a small child). Given our somewhat contemptible history with falsely advertised meatball proportions, we were suspicious. Lo and behold, the waitress-- that good angel of the supper-- swooped down from her heavenly perch and provided respite by, get this, offering to take a picture of the purported giant ball of meat with my iPhone. Truthfully, we asked her to, but she went and did it nonetheless.
So great was this act of benevolence and unselfishness on the part of our dear and kind waitress that I promptly ordered the meatball and ate part of it and the spaghetti upon which it was nestled. Was it good? It was meatball.
The moral of the story:
when thou art in great need and the powers of shadow and darkness conspire to ruin thy meal, thy waitress, good matron of the kitchen, shall set thee free from all foul menu hesitance.
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