That’s my boy

I have family in North Carolina. Periodically, I like to go see them. I’ll pile the wife and kids into the car and embark on the great American family road trip. I’ve taken this trip several times. Each time, around the 4th of July weekend. It’s a moderately long road trip, about 900 miles or so each way. I'm not a driving masochist. I like to break up the trip. We try to break the trip into driving segments of about 6 hours each. It usually takes about three days to drive there.

We’re on our second or third trip and looking for something different to do on the drive down. After all, how many times can you stop at the Crystal Caves? The wife decides we should go to the beach. Now Lisa, (the wife) is a nice dark skinned Mediterranean type. I on the other hand am an almost Albino Irishman. Normally, I balk at such an invitation. If I want a severe burn, I know easier ways to get one. But it’s vacation, and she promises to take an umbrella and they make Sun Block with SPF factor 70. What the heck, I’m a gamer. Deal me in, let’s go to the beach. So what beach is about 6 hours into our journey? And the answer is …..(Drum roll please) ….. Atlantic City!

We get there late in the evening. The plan is to go to the beach in the morning, then early afternoonish, head to our next way point. The kids sleep in, we have a light breakfast, I slather up with my SPF 70 and off to the beach we go. We have a good time at the beach. The water is warm, the breeze is light, and the surf is relatively calm. We’re having a fine day, so far. It gets to be about noon and we’ve been at the beach for a couple of hours. It’s getting hot, we’re hungry and we have 6 hours yet to drive. We decide it’s time to head out. But FIRST, we need to eat.

On the way out of Atlantic City, we pass a Country Kitchen. PERFECT!!! Let’s go eat. We go rolling in and even though it’s crowded, we get a table quickly. This day is going just great. They sit us at a round table almost dead center in the restaurant. Lisa’s to my left, Caitlin’s to my right and Dangerous Dan the MAN is sitting across from me. The waiter comes, and we order. When I say we had a light breakfast, I mean I didn’t eat. So I’m hungry. The Country Kitchen is still serving breakfast. Actually, you can get breakfast all day. Great, I’m getting breakfast.

I’m a fussy eater with dietary limitations. I can’t eat everything, and what I do eat, I want prepared my way. I order breakfast. I’ll have eggs, three eggs, over easy, not to hard but not to runny. I don’t want any googly bellies, but I need the yoke to be runny enough dunk my toast in. And put cheese on the eggs, American cheese. I want extra American cheese. Actually, I’ll have three slices of American cheese. And potatoes, home fries. Not hash browns, but home fries. I’ll have toast, raisin toast with butter. Keep the jelly, all I want is butter. Oh, and I’ll have the pancakes too. And a steak, cooked MEDIUM. No seasoning on my streak, just a piece of meat slapped on a grill and cooked the way I like it, MEDIUM. Lisa rolls her eyes, lets out a gasp and patiently awaits her turn. Who knows what the rest of them get? All I care about is my double sized breakfast because, I’m hungry.

We have a lovely conversation waiting for our food. The kids recount all that they’ve done on the beach. Hey Dad, did you see me catch that wave? Hey Dad, why didn’t you let us bury you in the sand? Hey Dad, did you see all those sea gulls? Hey Dad, what about all the seaweed? Basically, it was just a good old fashion fun family morning all around.

Before I forget to mention it, Dangerous Dan the Man is about 10 years old at this time.

Eventfully, the food comes. Lisa looks at what I ordered and comments “do you think you got enough food, do you really think you’ll eat all that?” I look at all the food and think to myself, nope no way, but I answer her “What? I haven’t eaten yet. I’m hungry”. We dig in. I cut into my steak, and it’s raw. It’s not medium, it’s not rare, it’s raw. This thing couldn’t have been on the grill 10 seconds a side. It’s been cooked just long enough for the outside to change color. The inside, the entire inside, is raw. I can't just cut off and eat the cooked outside edges, the whole thing is raw. Normally, I'd make a fuss. After all, I painstakingly detail what I want and how it should be cooked. But Lisa was right. It was way too much food. So I just put the steak aside, I’ll just give it back. I probably wouldn’t have eaten it all anyway.

The waiter comes over and asks how our meal is. I show him the steak and ask him to take it away. He offers to fix it. He'll take it back to the kitchen and have them put it back on the grill. I decline. It’s never a good idea to send back food; you’re never quite sure what they’ve done to it before they give it back. I tell the waiter not to bother. I tell the waiter that I didn’t want to eat just the steak alone and if I wait to finish eating until the meat comes back, the rest of my meal will be cold. I ask him to take it off the bill. He leaves with the meat. No fuss, no muss. We go back to eating and talking, still a good morning.

Then the manager comes over. He asks what was wrong. I tell him the steak was undercooked. He offers to fix it, he offers to have it thrown back on the grill. I decline and repeat my story about the cold meal. He again offers to fix it. I again decline, all the while saying, “Just take it off the bill”. The Manger asks how I knew the steak was undercooked. I told him because it was raw. He asks how I know it was raw. I told him because I saw it. He then snaps, “SO YOU CUT THE MEAT!” I said "yes, how else would I know how it was cooked?" I again tell him not to worry about it, just take it off the bill. Raising his voice, he asks me what he’s supposed to do with the steak now because, I cut the meat. I am now starting to realize that the manager is not there to see how our meal is. He is there to give me grief about sending back the steak. We start trading shots. He’s getting angry, I’m getting angry. He wants to know why I won’t let him fix the steak. I keep telling him I don’t want it fixed. He keeps saying, “BUT YOU CUT THE MEAT”. I keep saying brilliant things like, “how else am I suppose to see how it’s cooked?” He says, “That is the way we cook medium around here.” I say, "Medium is a warm pink center, that steak was raw through and through.” And every time I mention how the steak is cooked, he shouts “YOU CUT THE MEAT!” Now I’m really getting irate. I take off my sunglasses and toss them on the table. I push my chair back from the table so I can stand. I start to say something about customer service and the way he is treating me, because they can’t cook a simple steak. Lisa’s now telling me to calm down. And I’m doing a slow boil. I’m getting riled. This guy has destroyed what had been a perfect day and I'm off the chart unhappy about it. I start to stand. I'm ready to go. Come on, let's dance. He want's to play, I'll play. Emotion has over come civility. Obviuosly knowing what's about to happen, the Manager turns and walks off. As he reaches the opposite side of the table I take a parting shot with a comment about customer service. The manager turns and shouts “BUT YOU CUT THE MEAT!!!”. People around us are no longer eating. They're looking at me and starting to back away. After all, I'm standing in the middle of the resturant steaming mad jousting with the manager. Every eye in the place is looking at my table. No one is making a sound, everyone is just watching, waiting. Waiting to see how I'm going to react. You could hear a pin drop.

At this point Dangerous Dan the Man stops eating, looks at me and very loudly says, “HEY DAD, IS THAT LIKE CUTTING THE CHEESE?”

And just like that, the situation was defused.

That’s my boy. You gotta love him. I wonder where he gets it from.