Do-it-yourself lemonade
While I can certainly understand being poor (I am), I find it insulting and spiteful to be made to make a first trip for the water with lemon and then a second trip a few minutes later for that magic pink-packaged ingredient that ties the whole cocktail together. I'm sure the reasoning goes something like:
"Being that it's way too embarrassing to come right out and ask someone who makes his living by selling things to people for actual money, I'll just have him get me the water first. Surely many people must do that every day (almost everyone), and he couldn't possibly fault me for doing it (I don't). Then, in two minutes, when he's distracted doing something else (I'm not. I only have one other table. I'm an underachiever, not Mr. Magoo), I'll ask him to bring that Sweet n' Low around."
Though I suppose that while not dumping the whole depressing scheme on me at once could be an attempt at being polite and sparing my feelings, I'd love to for someone to be frank with me just once and lay out the whole recipe and plan from the get-go for the sake of convenience. Don't break my window then come around the next day to steal the radio after I've spent an hour with a roll of duct tape and a Hefty bag patching up your handiwork. I know exactly who you are and what you're up to, so just give it to me straight: blue, pink, or yellow?
I suppose the upside is that I don't get bored running back and forth piecing together Ms. Daisy's depression spritzer. Nothing takes the sting out of a $14 dinner check better than knowing that I'm at least getting my exercise in. The only thing that could make this scenario more enjoyable is the (inevitable) request for more lemons and sweetener...and, of course, being asked to wrap up the remaining two bites of dinner along with a fresh loaf of free bread. At that point, one learns to be grateful just to not receive the gratuity in nickels and pennies.
"Being that it's way too embarrassing to come right out and ask someone who makes his living by selling things to people for actual money, I'll just have him get me the water first. Surely many people must do that every day (almost everyone), and he couldn't possibly fault me for doing it (I don't). Then, in two minutes, when he's distracted doing something else (I'm not. I only have one other table. I'm an underachiever, not Mr. Magoo), I'll ask him to bring that Sweet n' Low around."
Though I suppose that while not dumping the whole depressing scheme on me at once could be an attempt at being polite and sparing my feelings, I'd love to for someone to be frank with me just once and lay out the whole recipe and plan from the get-go for the sake of convenience. Don't break my window then come around the next day to steal the radio after I've spent an hour with a roll of duct tape and a Hefty bag patching up your handiwork. I know exactly who you are and what you're up to, so just give it to me straight: blue, pink, or yellow?
I suppose the upside is that I don't get bored running back and forth piecing together Ms. Daisy's depression spritzer. Nothing takes the sting out of a $14 dinner check better than knowing that I'm at least getting my exercise in. The only thing that could make this scenario more enjoyable is the (inevitable) request for more lemons and sweetener...and, of course, being asked to wrap up the remaining two bites of dinner along with a fresh loaf of free bread. At that point, one learns to be grateful just to not receive the gratuity in nickels and pennies.
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