SomethingSoWrong
Funniness Negates Wrongness
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
The Mentally Ill and Structured Dining
Last night was Mexican Food Night. That's right, with UPPERCASE LETTERS and everything, because my weekly dining has started to become way too structured. Already Tuesday night is Cheap Wings Night at Buffalo Wild Wings and Wednesday night (aka Lost night) is Deep Dish Pizza Night from Chicago Rick's Pizza. Friday or Saturday nights are usually (but not always) German Night at the Black Forest.

The SSW staff (that'd be 'Shank and I) don't seek out much variety in our dining experiences. Why? Because we're getting old and can't accept change. Or something like that. Comfort in what you know, I guess.

The point of this is that it was Mexican Food Night and we went to Posado's in Plano. And more importantly, we were able to eat an entire meal there without being interrupted by retarded kids throwing up.

Because that's what happened the last time we went to this particular vendor of Latin comestibles. Wanna hear about it? Of course you do.

(This is the part in SSW: The Movie where the screen would get all wavy and a harp would start playing)...


We arrived at Posado's, eager for tasty (T-A-S-T-E-Y if you're illiterate and you perform under the name "Fergie") Tex-Mex food to be shoved down our waiting gullets. After a short wait, the hostess seated us next to a father and his two kids, whom I barely noticed as we sat down. After ordering our drinks and being served chips and salsa, I decided that I'd wander over to the restroom to utilize it and wash up. Upon returning, I noticed that one of the kids with the father at the next table over was eating while putting his head down, which struck me as slightly odd.

"What's up with how that kid's eating?" I casually remarked to 'Shank.

"Dunno," he replied, "Weird..."

Soon, our food arrived, 'Shank with an over-sized burrito smothered in queso while I had soft beef tacos. Because, you know, I love eating tacos. I was just starting my second taco when I heard a kid at the next table over starting to choke. Thinking that he might be in serious danger, I looked directly at him just as he started throwing up. A lot. That looked like 'Shank's queso. Luckily for 'Shank, he was seated with his back towards this disgusting spectacle. The kid tried to get up, but the father blocked him in, which I was grateful for, as when the kid tried to get up, he was coming in my direction.

Of course, I immediately lost most of my appetite. I had to concentrate to regain what was left, forcing the vision of that kid's vomit from my mind and steeling myself to enable the consumption of further food. Finally, I was able to start eating again, slowly consuming the second taco with trepidation.

I was about two-thirds of my way through it when the gagging and choking began. It was then that I realized that the kids at the next table were retarded. And the one that had thrown up was now sounding as if he were about to start spewing again. The other retarded kid found this hilarious and started laughing that peculiar laugh that retarded people all seem to have.

'Shank bailed and hid out near the restrooms, as he's deathly afraid of the retarded. I stuck around, waiting for our waitress to return to get our check--we were more than ready to leave. As I waited, and more choking and gagging went on, I saw 'Shank maneuver to the bar area. I got up and joined him, watching for the waitress to return and immediately assume we'd walked our tab. She did just that, looking around in exasperation until I flagged her down from across the room.

"You guys look ready to leave," she said.
"More than ready," I replied.

She got us our ticket. I wondered how I could complain about the 'tards without looking like a dick. I decided it wasn't possible. Bah. Even though we lost our appetites, we still went home hungry. And angry. And maybe even some other word that ends in "-gry".


Last night, though, we just had bad service. Which is okay, because we're used to it. Somewhere along the line, 'Shank and I got a bad service curse. I don't know why or how, but it happened. It still annoys me at times, but somehow I've reached a Zen-like peace with it.

A Zen-like peace I might need tonight, because we always get shitty service on Cheap Wing Night at Buffalo Wild Wings.