That was...interesting

We have the most interesting experiences in Olive Garden. A couple summers ago, you long-term readers may remember, it was an Olive Garden waiter who was so very friendly and flirty with us. More recently, it was an Olive Garden waiter whom my sister pegged as having worked there a week. She asked, and sure enough, he'd been there exactly a week.

Yesterday we had two interesting events. First, we had rather an absentee waitress. I gather she was double-assigned, but for whatever reason, it took remarkably long for our food to arrive. Then the sister finished off her lemonade and wanted a refill. She sat and looked at it for, oh, maybe ten minutes. No waitress. Occasionally I'd see her doing a hundred-yard dash in the distance with goblets and a bottle, but was unable to catch her attention. I finally snagged a passing other member of the waitstaff and asked if they'd locate her for us.

"What's her name?"

Um...

"Marcie?"

"Maybe! Yeah, that sounds right!"

So off she went to track down Marcie. We heard her mellifluous voice wafting out from the kitchens, over the sounds of forks and Italian music and chatting diners. "MARCIE!" The sister and I burst out laughing.

A little bit later an awkward young man presents himself at our table. "Um, can I help you? Marcie's, ah, kind of busy."

He kindly brought the lemonade. Then Marcie finally made it. "Can I bring you your check? Or do you want dessert?"

Just the check was fine...

For our second interesting even, we made a trip to--if you'll excuse my mentioning it--the powder room. I walk in and observe a boy. Not a tiny boy, either; this one was maybe an 1999 model.

My first thought was, "Did I make a terrible mistake?" I consider: nope.

My second thought was, "Is your mother in here?" I consider, and with great self-restraint do not actually ask him. She must be. Surely. I look at him, and he ignores me, and I move right along.

I emerge to find something of a crowd. The glorious carnival-esque Olive Garden music is tootling away merrily in the background: dootly doot-doot doodly doot! His presumable mother is blocking one sink, and he himself is blocking the other, and my sister is standing around with her camel look enjoying the chaos, and his presumable older sister also comes out and gets in the way. I stand next to my sister and imitate her camel look. We all appreciate life. The music plays on. Dootly doot doot!

The alleged mother catches sight of me in the mirror. She yanks her offspring out of the way by the arm, and he sort of lurches toward the door, and sways back into the way, and then drifts off again. Dootly doot doot! I sneak in and wash, and the sister insinuates herself and she washes. The mother puts on lipstick. At length. The whole family trips out. The carnival music continues. There's silence as we take stock of our world.

I would just like to take this opportunity to request all you mothers to please don't bring your older sons into the ladies' room. Please. I even just split an infinitive in my sincerity. :-) As one of my sister's coworkers pronounced: If it's interesting in accounting or public restrooms, there's something wrong.