The Vegetarian
By Allison
Adams 02-03-13 / Submitted to The Greeneville Sun on 02-03-13
She was impatiently tapping her
foot when I looked up at her and asked, “What do YOU think I should do?”
“Me? What do I think?” she asked.
“Yes. What would YOU do?”
I used to be able to make snap
decisions. Never look back. Remain confident with my choice.
But I’ve lost my mojo.
I yearn for a little validation.
I needed her counsel. Her expertise. After all, she dealt with this kind of
thing all the time.
She responded with uncertainty.
“Hmmmmm…”
I began to wonder if she was
similarly afflicted.
“What’s your opinion of the
meatloaf?” I asked.
“It’s very good”, she replied.
“Are you sure?” I quizzed.
“It’s very popular!” she said,
reassuringly.
I could feel little beads of
perspiration breaking out on my upper lip.
I was under too much pressure.
“Why don’t you get the others’
orders and come back to me?”
“I have their orders,” she relied,
“I’m just waiting on yours.”
“We’re ALL waiting on you, dear”,
mumbled my husband.
He thinks I’m tedious.
I prefer to think of myself as
Highly Indecisive.
It’s a gift.
“How about the pork?” I
probed. “What do you think about
the pork?”
“The roast, or the chop?” she
asked.
“Chop? Oh, my – I didn’t know there was a chop on the menu!”
She reached over the top of the
menu, which was the size of a Rand McNally Road Atlas, and into which my nose
was buried, and used the nib of her pencil to point to the 5”x7” color photo of
the pork chop, garnished in full regalia upon a shiny platter, and centered on
the page at which I’d been staring for the past 5 minutes.
“There it is”, she said as the
tapped her pencil on the pork portrait.
“It’s a specialty here.”
“It looks delicious!”
She put her pencil to her pad and
started to write.
“But I don’t think I’m that
hungry”, I admitted. “What about
the shrimp? How do you feel about
the shrimp?” I looked right into her eyes and asked, “Would YOU order the
shrimp if YOU were me?”
“You don’t have to marry the
entrée, Allison”, explained my husband.
“You just have to push it around on your plate.”
These days I’ve made a habit of
asking perfect strangers for advice about many of my personal selections.
I recently ran every shopper out of
the produce department at the grocery store when I started interviewing them
about their opinion on the cantaloupe I was considering putting in my buggy.
“Pardon me. How do you think this melon compares
with that other one over there?”
I try to be polite – and honest.
“Excuse me. My hearing is shot. When I thump this melon, does it sound
ripe to you?”
I guess if you see me out and I’m
headed in your general direction with a melon in my hand (or a menu), you
should trust your instinct and turn away and make like a ball bearing on a
marble floor.
(I apologize in advance if you ever
unfortunate enough to pull behind me in a fast food drive-thru.)
My dining partners were growing
weak from hunger, and I could tell by the way she was impatiently tapping her
pencil on her order pad that the waitress would appreciate it if I made my
selection before her shift ended.
I knew I needed to pick SOMETHING.
As I studied the menu one last
time, I began to wonder if maybe it was unreasonable for me to ask the waitress
to help me decide between the pork roast, or the pork chop.
Or the meatloaf.
Or the shrimp.
I mean – for all I knew, she could
be a vegetarian.
“Maybe I’ll just have the dinner
salad.” I said.
“Excellent choice!” she
exclaimed. Then she turned on her
heels and disappeared into the kitchen before I had a chance to inquire about
her opinion of the tanginess of the low-fat balsamic vinaigrette.
I knew she was a vegetarian.
