I was at a one of my favorite diners recently, and ordered a sandwich platter. The platter comes with my choice of two sides. I could have had a salad, coleslaw, or a few other options. But I chose french fries and applesauce. Seemed like a nice combo to me.
The waitress, who I had not dealt with before, seemed irritated by the selection. She put her pad down, let out a grunt, and said, “What is the deal with guys and applesauce?” I was a little surprised by what felt like a rebuke.
“I didn’t know there was a deal with guys and applesauce,” I said. “What’s the deal with women and complaining?” I figured I’d give it right back to her.
She smiled. “No! I’m serious! All the time guys come in here and order applesauce for their side. Do you just not want to eat a piece of fruit? You want it mashed up for you like a baby?”
Like a baby? Ha! Now I was laughing. “Where on the menu does it say I can order a piece of fruit with my sandwich?” I paused, and looked again at the menu. “I see salad. I see coleslaw. Rice. Baked potato. Show me ‘piece of fruit’ and I’ll order it. But all I see related to fruit is the applesauce. I’ll have the applesauce, please.”
That was the end of that. She went and put my order in, and a couple minutes later, brought me a bowl of applesauce. I thanked her and, as she walked away, I said, “Oh! Could you bring me a bib?” She walked back toward the kitchen, grinning.
I think I’m in love.