Yes We Have No Bananas, Part 3

My squeeze and I ate sitting at the bar at Chili’s last night. Every time we go someplace that we’ve gone before, the staff recognize her, They don’t recognize me. “Kendall Jackson chardonnay?” they asked without her ever saying a word. “And what will it be for you sir?”

What’s particularly disturbing is that we’ll visit the same restaurant a dozen times, and staff will remember her every time. If I then later go to that same restaurant by myself, the waitress we’ve had several times before comes over and introduces herself to me like she's never seen me before in her life. I'm beginning to think I'm the first human being to go though life with stealth technology - never appearing on anyone's radar.

(They remember my squeeze because she’s a bit unusual looking. She only has the one eye. It sits in the middle of her forehead. When my son first met my squeeze he whispered to me "Dad, didja notice that she's a cyclops" Well, duh! I tell her that her parents should have named her Picasso rather than Polyphemus.)

Last night I ordered the small dinner salad. The barkeep asked me what kind of dressing I wanted.

I said “Do you have any vinaigrette?”

She said “The only vinaigrette we have is low fat.”

Well, yuck on that. “What else do you have?”

She said “We have thousand island, French, bleu cheese, honey mustard, and balsamic vinaigrette.”

“Well, since you don't have any vinaigrette, I guess I’ll have the vinaigrette.”