Much Ado About....

School days, school days. Remember good old fashioned chalkboards, and those random moments when the chalk would screech across the board and mount a surprise physical assault, making you shudder in pain and driving you into fits of apoplexy?

There are other forms of attack in the here and now. It has recently come to my attention that I may err slightly on the side of over reacting when accosted by my favorite phrase of the moment, "Enjoy!" Uttered by virtually every waitress, waiter, server from Vegas to Venice, I suppose.  Inevitably has the opposite effect on me, and ruins my meal, if not my day.  Chalk moment.  How I have come to dread eating out.

How could such an innocuous word, one designed to bring pleasure and delight straight to the heart, spear a shard of discontent to my rebellious soul? Am I simply and resolutely determined to never smile?

Perhaps.

BUT. Truth is, I can manage an upturned mouth for most other occasions. I have a benevolent soul and am civil and polite under most circumstances. So why does this one word send me over the cliff?

I think it began a year ago, when out for dinner at a new little Italian restaurant in Henderson. Maybe the waitress just had a little extra time on her hands to "make nice", seeing as there were only two guys at another table in the corner, and they may well have worked there. "Enjoy!" she exclaimed as she seated us. Sure enough, hon, I'm up for it. Fact is, that's seriously why I'm here. Go figure.

She brought us menus. "Enjoy!" as she sashayed on her way. Well why not? I thought. I had secretly kind of planned to do that anyway, encouragement or not.

Yet again, after she took our order and brought out bread sticks. "Enjoy!" Look, is there some kind of a chance I will momentarily sink into utter despair if I am not urged to do otherwise? Does it appear that I have just been liberated from a concentration camp and have to make up for time lost during repeated torture? Could she divine that I had lost touch, forgotten how? Bless her heart, for reaching out and rescuing me from falling back into the pit!

Bet you can't guess what she said when she brought us our food. Yep. Just in case we forgot to all on our own. Had she detected my enjoyment level ebbing, one more time? Had she intervened at the critical moment and administered emotional CPR and saved the day? The pressure had built. I savored every bite. With all my might. Didn't dare not to. Trying to keep my mouth closed and chew with an enthralling smile plastered from ear to ear.

And then, the check. This latest light of my life waltzed over with the damages, and radiantly beaming at us, handed it over with the admonishment, "Enjoy!"

Seriously?

I suppose it's anticlimatic to add the parting word thrown our way as we departed this haven of delight.

Well, rock my world. Back from the brink. I could not have had such a stellar evening without her constant exhortation to so do. How do you even begin to thank someone who so mindlessly takes to heart your welfare?

Is it just me? Or are they enjoining you as well to sidle up to the table of life and get with the program? I maintain they are reaching out to all humanity in this selfless effort. Ladies and gentlemen, it is the cloned waitpersons/servers of the restaurants of the world, who make all the difference, who have taken it upon themselves to save us from ourselves, and the grim possibility of having to experience any disenjoyment or unenjoyment of any sort. One person; one. same. simple. word. at. a. time.

From that moment on, I have had, shall we say, an adverse reaction to the E word. Screeching chalk on the chalkboard. Call it an allergy, if you will. Whenever a server spits it out, I recoil and have flashbacks of being strapped to the Labor & Delivery Table in the Hospital, in an extreme condition, with an all knowing male, of course, Dr. spewing the R word. ("Relax") As if.

Sure, I'm a humbug. Nevertheless. These one word exclamations. Command performances, are they not? Stop. Go. Smile. Sing. Shutup (had to make it one word or blow my premise). Look, take it for granted that if I'm tickling you, I'll eventually stop. I will go too, when I think it's time. I'll smile if I want to. And if I'm in the Choir, you won't need to preach to me to get me to sing. It's what I signed up for. As for shutup, well that's just never gonna happen, unless I happen to be singing and you roll your eyes. But enjoy? Please don't make me. Let me decide when, where, how for myself, ok?

Having waitressed a summer myself back in the long ago, I have wondered if I had ever resorted to the E word myself. Guilt is the code I live by. Even though my memory is on permanent vacation, I am certain that we had no such verbal shorthand back in the day. "Can I bring you anything else?"- maybe. Or  "Let me know how you like it"/"I'll check and see how you're doing in a few minutes"/ "I'm pretty sure the cook didn't really spit in this/ "Belly up"/"Want fries with that?"  Who knows. Whatever the situation, or people at the table warranted. Anything that was beyond the little routine one size fits all blurt.

What's wrong, after all, with the possibility of not enjoying one's chosen meal? Less than substantial tip?

Last month, against all odds, we were out on the town, daunted though I was to be once more ensconced in the familiar arms of a public eatery. Too soon after we ordered, the waitress reappeared with our food. Whoa, I hadn't had time to take a yoga breath. The moment of truth, and no Zen back up. When she opened her mouth, I cringed. Then a soft "Hope you like it." Stop the presses! Are we no longer in America?? Tears came to my eyes. I could barely lift my fork. Swallow? Beyond the pale. I was overcome with sheer joy! Remarkably, I found myself unexpectedly "in joy" in spite of myself. Imagine that.

I know it goes against the grain. Here we have the ubiquitous Stepford servers, who are all programmed to mindlessly mimic each other and endlessly cajole us with their two syllable admonishment. And then out of nowhere, a breath of fresh air. Lo and behold. A thinking person. A far cry from the maddening crowd. At long last, I have hope again.

And did I mention she got quite the generous, heartfelt tip?

(Still and all, it's enough to make a vegetarian like me consider going to McDonald's where I only have to handle the cashier's robotic "Have a nice day!" -  Don't even get me started!)