| rev:text
| - It started with a quizzical name that olfactory disorder that was permeating the air. I conceded victory to my luncheon companion when she bullseyed it with "dirty mop" and soon we found each other staring at the other with that silent, yet unmistakable half rolling bug eyed glare that suggested we could be embarking on a potential dining apocalypse. But I was determined to stay put, I had a Groupon and a mad hankering for onion pancakes.
Prior to ordering, I showed our server the Groupon only to be told they no longer accept them and they have canceled their contract with them. Some muttering about 20% now 40% and heavy sighs and you don't knows. Yeah, okay and I don't really need to know, life is full of ambiguity and I'm already there and I still want onion pancakes.
Our server was soon joined by another server or cook or passerby (as I mentioned, I had full on embraced ambiguity and was reluctant to deviate from that stance) to aid in the onion pancake ordering. There was picture pointing, asking how many pancakes came in an order, how big were they, there was this same process over and over and over again. Brain surgery should be this complicated, not onion pancake ordering.
Then, for ambiguous reasons, we got another server and with that came renewed hope and we went on to order the rest of our meal. It felt like a new dawn, so I asked her about the Groupon, oh yes, they honor them. Then my friend also had a surge of optimism to ask for a new plate, since our previous server ran his fingers all around hers to demonstrate pancake size during the pancake ordering. We enthusiastically pointed to the rest of our order under the impression that we were understood.
Pointing worked in China, I figured it would work at Mr Chopstix, I figured wrong.
Our different fathers, same mother ice green teas arrived; different colors, but similar in taste. Then came the soup we never ordered and sent back, followed by the lunch specials we didn't order, but decided to keep and eat because it was all too difficult and exasperating at this point to do otherwise. Then came the great debate when our server asked how the food was and my friend nonchalantly told her it was fine, but not what she ordered. Then came the menu back at our table and the server pointing at the wrong meal and my friend flipping a few pages forward to show her the right meal; the culmination of the ultimate not on the same page moment.
In fairness, the server tried to get us to reorder our meals, but we were fine with what we had, which I think might have been chicken and broccoli and orange chicken, all a bit too greasy, but ok, the onion pancakes, though not stellar were good enough to rate a solid 7.
Whose meal is this anyway concluded with a greatly discounted final bill that was a gesture not requested, but unambiguously appreciated.
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