To be referenced in TV shows and movies, I imagined that it must be on par with the oft-referenced In-N-Out. Of course, I realize now that there is absolutely no basis in reality for such an idea. Any brand, quality or not, can pay to be mentioned on TV. Still, the references were made by adults, not kids, so I dissociated Shack Shake from McDonald’s and its ilk. Again, I realize my naivete in thinking that only children like McDonald’s; however, that was my bias at the time, so if ever I had the chance to try the fare at Shake Shack, I was game.

I assumed I would have to wait until I made my way back east at some point in the distant future before I ever had that opportunity. So, you can imagine my surprise when I got off the 405 at Western and saw a brand new Shack Shack right across the street from the hotel where I would be staying. I made a plan for lunch the following day.

The Good

I don’t mind admitting that I am a little apprehensive about blindly venturing into new businesses. Particularly restaurants. There was a time, not so long ago, when you didn’t need instructions to place an order at a fast-food restaurant. Now, every fast food restaurant is a variation of Subway’s bespoke sandwich model, but less intuitive. I feel like Michael Keaton ordering at McDonald’s for the first time in The Founder every time I walk into a restaurant I’ve never tried before.

I know what a sandwich is and what I want on it. I don’t know what the fuck a Poke is, so when I walk into a Poke shop and see a cryptic menu board with pictures of every item they sell and instructions that say, “Pick your protein” and “Build Your Bowl,” I’m going to turn around and walk back out the door, and I have. A tip to restauranteurs at every level of the game: Wow us with your recipes, not with your gimmicky, experimental ordering processes.

Be Careful What You Wish For

If I wanted to pick every ingredient that goes into my meal, I would eat at home. That’s the beauty of going out to eat. Someone else went to the trouble of finding recipes that work and taste good, and all I have to do is pick the one that looks the most appetizing.

Many years ago, I went to a new “Build Your Own Burger” restaurant. The place was ahead of its time, and that’s probably why it went under. They used tablets to order instead of people. It would be another decade and a half before I would see that technology in use again.

On the tablet, you selected how many patties you wanted and what kind of bun, and then you scrolled down a list of every possible ingredient you could think of to add to a hamburger. At first glance, I thought I had finally found the perfect burger. I built one with all of the toppings I love on a burger: cheese, onion rings, a fried egg, pickles, bacon, and god only knows what else — it was fifteen years ago. I realize now that getting everything you ever wanted never works out the way you think it will.

Ordering a pizza with every meat the pizzeria offers sounds good, but it just ends up tasting like spicy grease. Likewise, a burger with a bunch of things you like to eat separately does not mean they will complement each other on a piece of meat between two buns. Ever since then, I have gladly allowed the professionals in the test kitchen to create my meals for me.

With all of that in mind and not knowing what to expect when I walked into my first Shake Shack experience, I decided to peruse the menu in the car before I went inside. I was elated to discover the menu is not only totally normal but that you can order online and walk inside to pick up your food. When I went inside ten minutes later to pick up my order, I learned that that’s how you order inside the restaurant as well. An island in the middle of the lobby area of the dining room had three tablets mounted to one side and two condiment stations on the other.

The Bad

It was a curious design choice, considering there was no other way to order a meal inside the restaurant. There were no cash registers where you could place an order with a live person. There was, however, a long counter that would conventionally have had cash registers on it. Why build the long cash register counter if you’re not going to use cash registers? Is it just in case they change their mind down the road? Is ordering via app an experiment and the results aren’t in yet?

Why do certain vestiges survive innovation? Last year, I rented a Hyundai Ionic 5 because Hertz was all out of Teslas. I hated everything about that car, especially the mélange of chargers that, despite the brand or network they belonged to, never had a fully functioning charging station. I had a problem every time I tried to charge that stupid car. What I couldn’t understand about its design, though, was why it looks like just another conventional gas-powered car. Conventional car designs work around the necessities of the drive train and fuel system. Electric cars have none of that, so they don’t have to look like conventional cars. The Cyber truck is a(n) great example of that.

Innovate Or Don’t

Telsa replaced every knob, dial, and gauge with a screen. I know many people don’t like that, but those people are Luddites, and their opinions are irrelevant. We’re living in a strange transition period where automakers have to make cars with one wheel in the future and one in the past to ease people out of their comfort zones. Or, they could be like Tesla and say fuck it and build a great car and show people what the future could be.

All that is to say, if you’re going to go to the trouble of building a brand new restaurant from the ground up with revolutionary new processes for ordering and delivering products to the customer, why would you leave irrelevant vestiges in the design? Especially space-consuming ones. Why build a single square foot more than you need?

I have been back since my initial visit, and they have two cash registers at the end of the counter, now.

The other thing I didn’t understand was why there were so damn many employees. There were as many or more than I have seen working at any In-N-Out or Five Guys. So many of them didn’t seem to have anything to do either. They were sort of wandering around, like Mii’s on the Wii home screen, trying to look busy. The result was a chaotic and congested dining room. Employees were constantly bumping into customers as they came around the corner from the kitchen area.

She Brings The Shake to The Shack

In every business, there is always one employee keeping the whole operation going. At this Shake Shack, it was a heavy-set woman with a headset. She took orders from the drive-through, poured all of the drinks, and took a meeting with the douchey, thirty-something blonde man that I assume was the franchisee. He looked like a “bro” whose daddy got tired of financing his Spring Break lifestyle, so he bought him a Shake Shack franchise. Now, he shows up once a week in an untucked polo, Vans, and a trucker cap. He sets up his computer in a booth – during the lunch rush – and gets in the way of his employees as they scramble around the store, trying to look busy—all except that one dutiful employee, who handled being pulled in three different directions with perfunctory grace.

Rack ‘Em Up

Just outside the kitchen area, against the wall on the opposite side of the passthrough from the useless counter, was a metal baker’s rack. Another curious choice. They went to the expense of building a ten-foot long, totally useless countertop, only to bring in a piece of furniture to place completed orders on. Did someone just wake up one morning and decide to play restaurant?

Again, since my initial visit, they replaced the rolling baker’s rack with a permanent one.

Occasionally, an employee would place a bag on the metal rack for customers to pick up. While I sat at a table across from the rack, I watched two different employees place two orders there. Another employee placed a bag on the long, useless counter, and it sat there for several minutes, transferring the heat from the contents inside to the surrounding air, before yet another employee came from somewhere behind me, possibly outside, and put the bag on the rack.

I’m Not Rich

The receipt stuck to the outside of the bag had “Rich” printed on it in bold lettering. That annoyed me. I didn’t consent to any nicknames. I immediately got up to grab my food. The employee had barely set it down when I reached for it. I startled him. He apologized to me but didn’t specify for what. It perturbed me that they called me “Rich,” but there’s no way he knew that. I supposed it was for abandoning my lunch to cool for several minutes on the useless counter. I soon came to realize it was for the overpriced abomination in the bottom of an awkwardly large paper bag.

The Burger

As I pulled my burger out of the bag, it occurred to me that I made a mistake. Occasionally, while enjoying a dipped cone, Oreo Twister, or Sundae from Foster’s Freeze or Dairy Queen, I would notice hamburgers and other non-dessert items on the menu and wonder who would order a hamburger at an ice cream shop. Apparently, I would.

That’s not to say that an ice cream shop can’t make a good burger, but what are the odds that they do? I don’t know anyone who has eaten a hamburger from Dairy Queen. In fact, I’ve never heard anything, good or bad, about a Dairy Queen hamburger because that’s not what Dairy Queen is known for, hence the name. Baskin-Robins isn’t out there trying to win back the slice of the market Wendy’s stole from them with her Frostees. Likewise, Wendy’s isn’t trying to expand on her dessert selection by offering 31 flavors of Frostees.

You Can’t Be Everything to Everyone

If a business can’t make it with the thing they’re known for, they’re not going to cement their place in the market by offering mediocre versions of what other businesses are known for. It’s like when the menu at a restaurant is thick enough to beat the rats in the kitchen to death with, you know, everything in that thing arrived frozen, and they don’t do any of it well.

So, when I saw my burger from Shake Shack, I realized that my unfamiliarity with the franchise had led me astray. I had become the freak who orders a burger at a dessert shop. A dessert shop, I should point out, that started as a hot dog stand. Shake Shack is the culinary equivalent of a 22-year-old college dropout trying to find herself.

My cheeseburger was so small that it had to be a joke or a mistake. It was something in between a McDonald’s cheeseburger and a slider on a Hawai’ian roll. I’m not really sure what the point of it was. It wasn’t made to fill you up, at least not if you’re a grown man like me. And, I don’t think it was meant to be bought in multiples, like tacos, because it cost seven fucking dollars.

Remember, back in the late 90s or early oughts, Carl’s Jr. introduced the Six-Dollar Burger. It was a massive burger that was supposed to rival expensive steakhouse hamburgers, I guess. I’m not sure; I don’t remember the propaganda. Anyway, back then, this burger would have cost 79¢ and come in a special six-pack cardboard carrier.

Not A Bad Burger, But A Meh Burger

Apart from its disappointing size (Now I know how my wife feels), I can’t even say anything particularly bad about the burger. It was just unmemorable. If you pulled into a side-of-the-road, non-descript, off-brand mini-golf course and fun center and walked up to the snack bar, this is the burger you would expect to get. It was the sort of burger you would get from the food trailer at the Little League fields. It wasn’t bad, but there’s not a chance in hell you would pay $7 for it if you knew what you were getting.

Just a few hours after my first Shake Shack experience, I saw this Tweet from a guy whining about the prices at Five Guys. I’ve never understood the ire people have about Five Guy’s prices or restaurant prices generally. You don’t have to eat out. At Five Guys, though, you get a decent-sized burger and half a lunch bag full of fries. For just $5 more than I paid at Shake Shack, I could have gone to Five Guys and been full. Also, who tips at a fast food restaurant?

The Fries

The fries were crinkle-cut, which I loved about Carl’s Jr. when I was a kid. By the time I was in high school, though, they had switched to plain old straight fries. Crinkle-cut fries aren’t as special now that I can buy a gross of them from Smart & Final anytime I want. There was a period about ten years ago when we were eating so many crinkle-cut fires that it made good financial sense for us to buy a case of them from Smart & Final, so we did. Evidently, Shake Shack ran the numbers and decided it made sense for them too. Do I need to elaborate here? The fries were fucking frozen. They weren’t frozen by the time they reached me, but they were on their way back after sitting on the useless counter for so long.

The Shake

I suspect that’s what happened to the ice cream that went into my milkshake. Shake Shack uses custard in their shakes instead of ice cream, so that may have been the issue. I don’t know what custard is, why it’s substituted for ice cream, or why so many burger joints put it on the menu, but I don’t like it.

I tried it on its own at Freddy’s, but I wasn’t a fan. Adding milk to it did nothing to improve either ingredient. Actually, it would be more appropriate to say that adding the custard to the milk didn’t improve either one because it looked like someone dropped a glob of thawed and refrozen ice cream into a cup of milk, slapped a lid on it, and quietly said to themself, “Good job, man, you’re doing the Lord’s work out here.”

They’re not, obviously. The gastric hornswoggle that is Shake Shack is the reason the bible forbids the mixing of meat and dairy. Get one right, and the Lord might look the other way. Deal strictly in mediocrity, however, and you deserve to be smote.

Bonnie told a coworker Shake Shack hadn’t impressed me. Her coworker replied with genuine shock. “Everyone loves Shake Shack. I’ve never heard anyone say they didn’t like it,” she said in disbelief. “His milkshake was icy like the ice cream had been thawed and refrozen,” my wife elaborated. Her coworker responded, “Oh, I’ve never had one of their shakes,” as though that cleared up a misunderstanding.

I don’t trust the opinion of someone who hasn’t tried the thing a brand is known for. Shake Shack is the name. The implication is that they do shakes really well; otherwise, they would call themselves something else.

There’s Lots Of Blame To Go Around

It’s hard to tell exactly what I took away from my first Shake Shack experience. Admittedly, it could be argued that my expectations, and not Shake Shack, let me down. Still, it’s on the Shake Shack marketing team for not having set my expectations in advance. There’s a Shake Shack 14 miles from my house, and I had no idea until just now.

I’m not calloused enough to assume all Shake Shacks are like this one. It had only been open for a couple of weeks, after all. That wouldn’t explain the poor design choices, but it would explain some of the other issues.

My experience with chains, however, has been consistent. That’s why people like them. There isn’t much reason to think that any other Shake Shack is better than this one. I will reserve judgment of the whole franchise, though, until I am able to try one in Manhattan. If this Shake Shack is representative of the East Coast palate, however, then my first trip to New York is going to be woefully disappointing.

The post Shake Shack Got Me Shook But In A Bad Way appeared first on Retro Active Lifestyle.

The Original Original Pizza Cookery

In those days, we used any excuse to stop by The Pizza Cookery. Friends visiting from out of town? Let’s take them to The Pizza Cookery. Need something from Fry’s? Let’s stop by the Pizza Cookery. Driving through The Valley for any reason at all? Let’s stop by The Pizza Cookery.

The Original Pizza Cookery, back then, was a vibe. Tucked into the corner of a shitty strip mall on Topanga Canyon Blvd., it was exactly what you would expect when you walked in the door. Sawddust sprinkled on the floor, Christmas lights strung around every inch of the walls, and complimentary peanuts at your table. 

The pizza wasn’t the best I’ve ever had, but the complimentary rolls were to die for, the quantity of food was unrivaled, and the atmosphere was unlike anyplace else. Even the Northwoods Inn – the only other restaurant I’m aware of with sawdust on the floor – couldn’t compare to the vibe that was The Original Pizza Cookery. The anticipation of going to The Original Pizza Cookery back then was palpable.

Have A Baby They Said…

Sadly, we didn’t get to go to The Original Pizza Cookery that day. At the appointment, the doctor dropped a bomb on us, “We’re going to have a baby today,” he said. I’m sorry. What? I’m afraid there’s been some sort of misunderstanding. We’re here for a checkup, not to have a baby. The baby isn’t due for another couple of weeks, not to mention the fact that we have plans for lunch!. Our plans, however, were not to be. 

We were ushered upstairs, where Bonnie was put into a hospital gown, needles and tubes were shoved into her skin, and we were left to wait in a severely decorated room with a TV mounted to the wall that only played public service announcements about raising children. One of them was a warning about the dangers of shaking a baby. It was so silly and melodramatic that any message would surely be lost in its absurdity, but it had exactly the opposite effect. To this day, we still quote the deep, booming voice warning us to “Never shake a baby.”

We spent eighteen-odd hours in that room, listening to that TV. I’m not sure what the harm would have been in letting us duck out for an hour to grab a bite to eat before settling into that drab little room until the sun came up the next day. We really began to regret having skipped breakfast that morning. Bonnie especially. She hadn’t eaten since the night before, and she wouldn’t get to eat again for three days. 

The New Original Pizza Cookery

We would eventually eat at The Pizza Cookery again and with our children. I don’t, however, remember the last time I ate at the Woodland Hills location. I hadn’t been in years, though, when it moved to the Thousand Oaks Inn in Thousand Oaks. It seemed out of place there. The Thousand Oaks Inn had always had a coffee shop called Dupar’s on the first floor, next to the lobby. A coffee shop is more appropriate for a hotel than a pizzeria. Coffee shops serve breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and while I understand that many people enjoy cold pizza for breakfast, I don’t think anyone is willing to pay for it at a hotel. 

Nevertheless, overcome by hunger and nostalgia, I couldn’t resist popping in for lunch as I passed by. I walked into the main entrance, though there was nothing to indicate that it was the main entrance. The single, unmarked, non-descript, darkly tinted glass door looked more like the side entrance to the bowling alley that used to be next door than the main entrance to a reputable and shockingly expensive restaurant.

The little door opened up like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory to a spacious but poorly utilized foyer. There was a podium to the left that held menus, so I knew I was in the right spot. An assortment of shit cluttered the wall to my right. I wasn’t sure if it was tat for sale or tchotchkes for ambiance, which tells you that neither was working. Straight ahead, a young, average-looking blonde woman and an older man were having a discussion about Jesus. I stood patiently if not awkwardly, waiting for someone to acknowledge my presence. 

Will Customer Service Ever Recover From COVID?

Eventually, after what I felt was an inappropriately long time to have to wait during an obviously slow period in the day, the blonde girl approached me and asked in an almost offensively patronizing tone if there was something that she could do for me today. Taken aback that my purpose for being there wasn’t blatantly obvious, I was momentarily dumbstruck. I stuttered and stammered, waving my arms in a way that she correctly interpreted as “I want a fucking table.” She said, “Oh. Dining in today?” As though everyone she encounters at that little podium has a different agenda. Then, she pulled a menu out of the podium and led me to the first table in a series of five comically tall booths that ran the length of the front of the restaurant. 

The booth sat against the wall, so it was very dark and sad. The hostess was either adept at reading people’s faces and body language or she frequently had customers requesting to be seated somewhere other than the dungeon because, without me saying a word, she asked if I would rather have a table by a window. Of course, I didn’t want to sit alone in the dark. I wanted to be able to look out the window while I waited for my lunch. She led me past the next table, where a father and daughter were already seated, and sat me at the table on the other side of them, next to a window.

Who Was This Booth Made For?

I laughed when I saw the window. The majority of it was frosted, and what little of the glass wasn’t frosted had hearts painted on it. Little did it matter because the window faced a stone wall ten feet away, so there was nothing to look at anyway. Perhaps that’s why the window was frosted in the first place. I climbed up onto the booth as the hostess laid my menu on the table. As she was walking away, she said that she would get me some rolls. I quickly replied, “No rolls.” She seemed a bit surprised but didn’t say anything more. She just returned to her bible study. 

The Original Pizza Cookery At The Top Of Jack’s Bean Stalk

I didn’t pick up my menu straight away because I was distracted by the height of the booth. It was so tall that my feet didn’t come anywhere near touching the floor. I’m 5’11’ with a 32” inseam, and my feet didn’t even reach the bar around the base of the table. As the edge of the booth cut into the back of my thighs, cutting off circulation, I couldn’t help but wonder who exactly these booths were made for. Did they find some 7’ tall carpenter on Craigslist to build these things? I cannot overstate how uncomfortable the booth was. My legs were all pins and needles when I finally left the restaurant. I’m happy to report, though, that since my visit, they have lowered the booths and tables to a human height.

The Gluten-Free Game Is Strong At The Original Pizza Cookery

I was so preoccupied with the absurdity of everything about this table that I completely forgot to look at the menu before my server came by to take my order. I already knew that all I wanted was a salad – The Original Pizza Cookery is sort of known for their generously sized salads – so it was just a matter of skimming the salad selection for the one that I wanted. Still, I wish I had taken the time to peruse the menu because then I would have found the gluten-free section, which I only found later on their website.

They have the largest selection of gluten-free options of any restaurant I’ve ever been to. I wouldn’t count on all of their offerings to be 100% gluten-free, though. For example, they have fries on their gluten-free menu but breaded mushrooms and mozzarella sticks on their regular menu, so the chance for cross-contamination is high. I was, however, impressed that they have two different sizes of gluten-free pizza, something I’ve never seen before. I ordered the Italian house Salad with blue cheese dressing and confirmed with her that it didn’t come with croutons. Before walking away, she confirmed that I didn’t want rolls, and I again said that I didn’t.

Italian and Gluten-Free Aren’t So Compatible

I seldom feel the need to explain to anyone that I can’t tolerate gluten, but I have learned that it’s best to make sure it stays out of my food. One day last week, I was eating lunch at Presto Pasta, and I forgot to ask if the salad came with croutons and, consequently, it arrived at my table covered with croutons. I picked them off, but the cucumbers, tomatoes, and carrots also had crumbs stuck to them. So, I picked off all of the visibly contaminated components and placed them on a napkin next to my plate. An employee came by later to check on me and clear my dirty dishes, and I saw her check out the random pile of vegetables, croutons and the slice of bread accumulated on the table with an inquisitive look on her face.

I don’t expect people to read my mind, but if I were in their shoes, I like to think that I could and would pick up on little clues, make deductions, and extrapolate the information before me. If a man were to order his chicken piccata with the only gluten-free pasta on the menu, for example, I would assume that it wasn’t a preference but a dietary restriction because nobody prefers anything to be gluten-free. So, I would confirm with him that he has an allergy, and then I would be sure to send out his salad without croutons and his entree without a giant slab of stale garlic bread sitting right on top of his gluten-free pasta. But, hey, that’s just me.

We Just Lived Through A Pandemic, People!

Before she left me, the waitress took my drink order. I asked for a Pellegrino, and she asked if I wanted lime with it, which impressed me because rarely does anyone think to ask that, let alone proactively bring limes out with the drink. My impression turned to disgust when she set my glass down on the table by the rim. Why don’t you just stir the lime in my water with your fingers while you’re at it? She didn’t only carry my glass that way, either. I saw her place other glasses on other tables that way, too.

Imagine what she’s spreading from glass to glass by handling the rim of the glass that way. Someone has a cold sore; she picks up their glass by the rim to refill it, returns it to the table, picks up a glass from the next table by the rim, refills it, returns it, and before her shift ends, everyone in the place has herpes. Of course, I realize I’m in the minority of people who disdain straws and choose to drink from a glass like a proper adult, but it doesn’t make the way she handles glasses any less gross. I even saw her set down a mug by the rim. A mug! It had a fucking handle for fucks sake!

While I waited for my salad to arrive – which, by the way, took significantly longer than I felt it should have, considering it was just one whole head of lettuce, a handful of mozzarella, half a can of garbanzo beans, and one slice of nasty looking very unripe tomato –  I took in the scene that is the new and improved yet, somehow, Original Pizza Cookery.

Pizza Shouldn’t Be Political

The word that came to mind as I looked around the dining room was WASPY. Perhaps it was the Jesus talk when I walked in the door that tinted my perspective or that everyone in the joint was white and conservative. Whatever it was, I simultaneously felt at home and behind enemy lines. Later that night, Bonnie reminded me that during the lockdown, the owner of The Original Pizza Cookery, refused to shut down. Their disregard for public safety would explain the server’s filthy fingers all over the rim of my glass.

The More Things Change…

There were two tables off to my left, occupied by old ladies who could have easily been the same old ladies who sat in coffee shops and restaurants in Thousand Oaks when I was a kid. There’s something about old ladies in Thousand Oaks that I’ve never seen anywhere else. They share the aesthetic that comes with aging comfortably in relative affluence. They all look like they walked out of a brochure for an assisted living community, and they always have. For all I know, these were the same old ladies eating lunch here thirty years ago when this was Dupar’s. Someone periodically comes out of the back and updates their clothes like the animatronic characters at Disneyland.

Daddy Daughter Day

Since there was nothing particularly interesting going on in the dining room, and since they were sitting directly in front of me, I found myself drawn into the conversation between the father and daughter seated at the next table. The father was sitting with his back to me. He was probably in his early fifties, and what remained of his hair was gray, almost white. He had the familiar horseshoe of male pattern baldness, but his was fine stubble that had grown back since his last shave two or three days earlier.

When I was a kid, guys with the horseshoe hairline carried on like they had a full head of hair. They didn’t shave it. They grew it out like they did when they had hair. It was never a flattering look, but when more than half of the men you know all look that way, you only have the men blessed with a full head of hair to compare yourself with. Then Bruce Willis went bald and started shaving his head, and balding men everywhere followed suit. Even men with odd-shaped heads looked better without the weird furry ring, which, before long, became a novelty of old pictures and home movies, like wood paneling and bell bottoms. 

He would have looked like a nerdy software engineer if he grew his hair out. Not the young hipster software engineers of today’s Silicon Valley but the kind with Coke bottle glasses and pocket protectors that created the industry those young nerds occupy today. The daughter was pretty but in a forced, artificial way. Beauty didn’t seem to come naturally to her, but she was at an age and socioeconomic level that afforded her access to the progress of the feminine beauty industry.

Hot Tea At The Pizza Cookery

She explained to her dad that her man was traveling to Chicago for business. I didn’t catch if they were married or just living in sin. The way she spoke about him, though, it didn’t sound like she was married to the love of her life. It sounded more like a legal partnership or a marriage of convenience. He is an investor, she explained, with a firm based in Chicago and has found that showing up to certain events in person has benefits of some sort or another. It sounded to me like she was making excuses for him and that she didn’t really believe them herself.

The Service Begins To Slip

As I finished my lunch, I began to get impatient. My server had fucked off somewhere after bringing me my salad and never came back to check on me. I would have liked another Pellegrino, but now that I was done eating, I just wanted my check. I saw her stopping by every other table but mine. She finally came by my table and asked me if I wanted anything else. I told her I just wanted the check, and she said she would be right back with it. But she wasn’t right back with it. She went back to waiting on every other table in the place. 

While I was waiting, the conversation between father and daughter turned to grandchildren. It seems there was trouble with the ol’ baby makin’ factory. A year ago, they thought that they would be pregnant by now, but it’s just not happening for them. She and her man were checked out, and they’re both working properly. I got the sense that her man was more disappointed that they weren’t pregnant than she was. Even her dad seemed to be a little more disappointed than her. It sounded like she was more disappointed about letting him down than disappointed that she wasn’t pregnant. 

It surprised me to hear that she was trying to have a baby because the way she was talking about what her man does for a living sounded more like first-date recap information than I-share-a house-with-a-man-who-I’m-also-allowing-to-drop-loads-in-me information. I also thought it was strange that she was sharing so much personal information with her dad. They must be really close. I wonder what it’s like to be that close to a parent. 

I Live Here Now

My waitress finally brought my check, but I wasn’t quick enough with my card. She just dropped the tray and ran. I feared it would be another twenty minutes before she came back to pick it up again and who knows how long before she brought it back. Pride of The Original Pizza Cookery she was. I was beginning to fear that this booth was my new home, and I was never again going to know the feeling of my feet touching the floor. Little difference it would make. With the booth cutting off circulation to my legs I wouldn’t be able to feel my feet before long anyway.

This Woman Will Give Birth Before I’m Able To Leave

Meanwhile, the daughter started talking about how difficult it had been to get pregnant. “There’s a 10% chance every month,” she lamented, as though the odds of getting pregnant are so long that it’s a miracle anyone has managed it thus far. I realize that it’s harder for some people to conceive than others, but there are so many millions of people who have a harder time avoiding conception that blaming your struggle to get pregnant on “the odds” seems a bit self-absorbed. It’s like when Bonnie complains that it’s too hot at 75º or too cold at 73º, and I remind her that it’s not too hot or cold; you’re too hot or cold. 

My waitress came right back with the check which was equally surprising and welcomed as the restaurant was starting to get busy, so I was glad to be on my way. As I was signing the receipt, I heard the daughter say, “It would just be nice for me to be the first not to have any medical intervention.” Apparently, getting pregnant doesn’t come easily for anyone in her family. Ironic, I thought, as I walked past her on my way to the door, my feet tingling with each step. Twenty-two years earlier, without even trying, Bonnie and I conceived our first son just upstairs, in this very hotel that is now home to The Original Pizza Cookery. What are the odds?

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