A Queso Premature Evacuation

With Hick hanging both legs over the edge of his possible-kidney-stone deathbed to act as my chauffeur, we journeyed to the eastern border of the state to meet my best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel for lunch on Wednesday. It only takes 35 minutes, but it seemed like so much longer.

Anyhoo...we made it to our Mabel destination for an early lunch. Hick had the breakfast skillet again, two fried eggs, sausage, and hash browns, covered in white gravy. I don't know how he finds that appealing. And I'm pretty sure it's not on the Kidney Stone Diet.

I had the chicken quesadilla. My usual.

That picture doesn't really do it justice. But it does show that at least this restaurant fills the little cups of sour cream and salsa more than 1/3 full.

There. Now you can see how my quesadilla was crammed full of the good stuff. Let the record show that this isn't my knife. I dropped mine on the floor. I was perfectly okay with wiping it off on my napkin and continuing my quesadilla cutting, but Mabel volunteered her own knife for me. Even though she'd already used it to cut her cheeseburger, and it had a little ketchup on it. She assured me that she hadn't licked it, though. So there's that.

Of course everyone else was finished before I was. I had at least half a quesadilla to go when Mabel's Hub declared he was taking the rest of his chicken strips home, and got a box. Hick's skillet had been cleared away. Mabel was having an occasional fry. One piece of her serving of fries at intervals. Conversation was flowing, so I kept on eating. "I plan on finishing this! Just so you know." They assured me that was fine. We're all retired, you know. Not on a schedule. We were going to Mabel's house afterward, for my birthday gift!

We always get an early start on lunch, because we sit around and talk all afternoon. This time we met at 11:15 to order lunch. The place wasn't busy. Maybe 1/4 full. So it's not like the waitresses were kept hoppin', and a line was waiting to be seated.

Now comes the most terrible part of our meal! I was chowing down on my last couple bites of quesadilla, dipping them in the sour cream and then the salsa. Mmm... really enjoying that last of my repast. Our waitress had been to the table at least four times after delivering our plates. To see if we needed drink refills, to take Hick's skillet, to bring Mabel's Hub his take-out box. And now she was back, standing at my left elbow.

"How's everyone doing?"

"Good. Fine. It was delicious." Said my tablemates.

Still, she stood there. And stood. While I was cutting and dipping the last of my quesadilla.

"I just came to see if I could clear any plates out of your way."

I HATE IT WHEN THEY DO THAT!

Even though she had still been consuming the occasional fry, Mabel gave up her plate. And the waitress stood. NO WAY was I going to give her the last scraps of my quesadilla. I don't care how much of a hog she thought I was, standing there like I should be done and relinquish my plate. I told Hick later,

"I wish I'd picked up my plate and licked it clean before shoving it over to the edge of the table!"

I didn't say anything to the waitress, or to Mabel. She's a regular there, and probably knows the staff, and I didn't want to be rude.

Even though it seems rude to me to stand and wait while someone finishes what's on their plate.