Mountain Clams

At Chili's

It was a simple plan. Go to Chili's. Have a salad. Nobody needed to get hurt. But such was not our fate that evening. Yesterday evening.

"Please wait to be seated," the sign said. The hostess glared impatiently as the table was being cleared. "It will be just a moment," she said, her smile returning briefly. Once the booth was properly sanitized, we were seated. The bustle of the restaurant hummed around us. People were cheerfully talking or chewing. Some even did both at the same time. I tried not to stare.

We looked over the menu a few times to find that delicate balance between healthy and satisfyingly gluttonous. We settled on an appetizer made mostly of cheese and a salad made mostly of salad. It wasn't long before the cheesy queso dip and crumbled tortilla chips were placed on the table and began to disappear.

Then, it happened.

I can't quite say that the world began to spin in slow motion, since I only saw the movement out of the corner of my eye. I saw a young man twitch suddenly. Then, food was falling to the floor. There was an audible "pop" followed by a spray of red. I felt rather than saw the spray hit my chest, and looked around, surveying what had happened. The seat, the table, my shirt, my companion, were all newly decorated in red. I was stunned to look behind me and see a huge splatter on the wall, ten feet away from the impact. I was thankful that it missed my face, though by the angle, I don't know how.

An entire plate of catsup-covered French fries fell to the floor face-down. The impact caused a splash of catsup to soar across the restaurant and splash over our table, hitting shirts, pants, ears, hair, and most definitely the wall. The floor was littered with fried potato casualties. I wish I had taken a picture! It would have served as a warning: This is what happens when condiments attack.

The bus boy brought out a towel to help us clean up, and tried to hand me a towel to wipe the wall down. I had a better plan: let's give the customer a table that isn't slathered in catsup while the staff cleaned up the mess! We moved to another table and finished our queso dip while the rest of the evidence was removed from our former booth.

After a while, the manager came over to talk with us about the incident. He offered to either comp our meal or replace the clothes that got damaged, but insisted we have a receipt for whatever replacement we picked up. Rather than dealing with that hassle, we took the free meal.

All in all, we should've gotten the fajitas.

Labels: food

posted by Brett @ 11:17 AM