We got invited to an upscale restaurant by my wife's work a few weeks ago for an office dinner.
"What do you mean 'upscale?'" I asked my wife.
"I mean fancy, reeeeal fancy," she replied. "You have a seven course meal. You got to wear a jacket and a necktie, mister."
When my wife starts mistering me, its wise for my well-being to be quiet. Anyway, we made it to the place. My wife looked exquisite in her red dress and as for me, I definitely looked uncomfortable in my neck tie.
"I think I'll take my tie off just before we eat," I started.
"They probably won't serve you then," my wife said.
That was something to ponder. I did want to eat and the hunger pangs were starting.
"Why is the light so dim? We can barely see each other," I asked. My wife, being used to fancy places, just frowned at me.
After we were seated by a stern looking "seating manager", an equally serious-looking "dinner associate" showed up at our table. I leaned closer to my wife and whispered "What's a dinner associate? Is he going to have dinner with us?"
"No, honey. He's the waiter. Remember, this is a fancy place," she whispered back.
"Oh, then this guy must be getting us our drinks," I said, pointing to the beverage consultant, standing right next to the dinner associate. The beverage consultant almost choked when I asked for a Budlight instead of Chateau pinot noir, or Franco cabernet sauvignon.
"Which salad did you order?" my wife asked.
"The fruit and nut symphony salad," I said, looking forward to it. "And here it comes." As soon as I looked at my plate, I tapped our dinner associate on the back. "I think you got me the wrong salad. I ordered the fruit and nut symphony," I said.
He looked at my Budlight and then at me, rather disdainfully.
"Sir, that is the symphony salad. And you have the wrong fork in your hand. The salad fork is the smaller one." He was kind enough not to be loud.
My wife turned to me and said -- "What's the ruckus, honey?"
"Oh nothing. My salad is all of two leaves of lettuce, five peas, three peanuts and half of a strawberry. I tell you I'm going to need a lot more than seven courses."
"Shh.... just smile at my boss across the table," she said.
"Now I know why they keep the light so dim," I muttered.
The rest of the evening was no better. I spent more time chasing food on my plate than eating it! The waiters—sorry dinner associates—sidled up silently and swished away plates, once even before I was done. When I uttered a mild protest, I was admonished that my knife and fork were at the 5 o'clock position, indicating that I was finished with my food. After that I kept my cutlery in my hands at all times, even when drinking my Budlight!
As we drove back from the fancy restaurant, my wife and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. We laughed all the way to Taco Bell!