waitress (m)

I took my mother to her appointment with the cardiologist.  Status quo on her condition which is good news.

We have lunch at a fish restaurant.  She celebrates her good check-up by ordering the fried fisherman's platter.  It takes me longer to order as I have to sidestep all the fried food which is emphasized in this place.  I explain to the waitress that I'm on WW and ask if they can broil haddock with no butter or oil.  Oh, and leave out the bread crumbs.  No, no french fries, thank you.  May I have steamed broccoli?  You don't have that?  Okay, how about a garden salad with just balsamic vinegar? 

My mother lets out an impatient sigh.  Clearly, this is slowing down the processing of her order.

I finish placing my order and eat one half of a roll without butter and then drain my large iced tea. 

The waitress comes back to talk to us.  She explains she's put on weight recently.  "How could I not?  They expect us to sample the food during tasting sessions which are every day before the start of the shift!"  I nod, pretending to be sympathetic, but she's like a size 10 and I'm having a hard time feeling sorry for her.

She goes away, my mother and I talk for a bit and then she returns with our lunch.  She tells me she's started to write down everything she eats and, "can you believe it?  350 calories in the tasting session?  I mean, what do I do?"  I have no suggestions for her (maybe wear an elf costume?).  I stare down at the world's blandest-looking fish and feel deprived.

We eat a little and she comes back to ask how everything is.  Great, I lie.  She asks if the vinegar alone gives me heartburn.  I say yes, as a matter of fact it does, especially if I have it late in the day.  Next thing you know, the young man clearing the next table comes over and explains his heartburn sometimes leaves him breathless at night.  What do I do for my heartburn, he asks? 

I tell him Prilosec once a day and lay off the acidic and spicy foods, especially at night.

My mother is beside herself at this point with all the interruptions by the staff.  My cell phone rings and it's my brother, Phil.  Where are we? he wants to know.  I tell him and he says he's driving that way and we should go to the window and wave to him.

My mother says she's not going to the window, put the phone down and stop talking to "every person who works here."

I do all this.  We have a moment of calm.  I concentrate on the taste of the fish.  It's tasteless, but fresh.  She is happy with the value of her meal (they give large portions for $12.99) but doesn't comment on the quality which, I've learned, is incidental to her.

The waitress comes back and asks if we want dessert which gets her started on the fact that desserts are her downfall.

I explain we are in a hurry (we're not) and ask for the check.

We leave, get in the car and my mother says "she'll be a blimp in a year if she stays at that job."

And that is how it begins.