Friday, September 4, 2009

This is me building a bridge

Do you ever remember a petty little incident, start stewing over it and get all het up about it again? Like something that happened a week, month or even a year ago? Well for some reason I started thinking about the time we had to pay fifteen bucks for a half serve of very average spaghetti bolognese.

Oh, now I'm sounding like a tightarse as I remember recently going through old posts and noticing a pattern of whinging about money. But anyway...

This happened in Ballarat about two years ago maybe? We went to Sovereign Hill and while we waited for another family we had lunch at a little cafe. Pascal was being very indecisive as three year olds tend to be so I just go ahead and order the spag bolognese for him. I ask the waitress, who was young and friendly, whether they do half serves because you see, I know he probably won't eat it and I don't like wasting food or money and she says sure, of course we can do that. So we get the pasta and Pascal says 'Yuck'. I'm sitting there thinking you and me both as I eye the meat which looks suspiciously like the Campbell's canned shit my mum uses to bulk up her Spaghetti Sauce*. I make some half arsed attempt at eating it but it's mostly left there on the plate. I vow at this point I am not going to force food on Pascal again but, you know, at least it's only a half serve so that's half the $15.90 price right? No. Wrong.

I paid fifty bucks or whatever it was and as I'm walking out, I'm thinking "Hmm, that was a bit more than I expected to pay...and it was crap." I sit back at the table staring at the oily suspicious looking bolognese and on Asa's nudge, decide to go back and sort this out. This older waitress goes through my order and there it is, $14.90 for the pasta. I'm like 'What?! It was half a serve!" and she points to the very literal small print at the bottom of the last page that says something about taking one dollar off the price for half serves. And she has the nerve to be rude about it! The Harridan! She feeds me some line about having to still go to the trouble of cooking the meal as a justification. I just paid up as you do and gave her a little bit of a greaser. Which from me is probably more like a sad clown look.

I get out and that comeback you think of just after but too late comes to me ( 'Oh, you mean the trouble of turning the microwave on')

But today, two years later..another, even better thought comes to me. I should have refused to pay for the Spaghetti Bolognese at all! Here am I sitting in traffic two years later thinking this. It is/would have been brilliant! Even better, I could have given her two dollars for the pasta. I mean what could she have done? Nothing, that's what. Put that it in your thin puckered smokers lips and suck on it!

So now I'm over it and I will know what to do next time.

Almost can't wait. Game On potential future rude waitress moles!

*No doubt a handy hint from Woman's Weekly circa 1976

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