Schadenfreude
I don't usually revel in the misfortunes of others.
But some people just bring it out in me.
Like my old nemesis, the Salad Bar Witch.
When I went to get a salad for lunch today, the line was clogged by two salad vacuumers. You know the sort: wide loads, whose doctors most likely told them that they should skip the fast food and eat more salads, who now overeat at the salad bar instead. Two of these people were working their way along the bar, heaping massive amounts of cheese, mushrooms, croutons, et c., on top of their two or three leaves of lettuce.
The salad bar at this store is two-sided island. One side has mostly vegetables, and the other side has most of the more interesting toppings: garbanzas, seafood, grape leaves, artichokes, grilled chicken, pepperoni, et c. Typical of most salad bars of this type, the assumption is one starts at the lettuce, and works ones way clockwise around the salad bar.
The two vacuumers were at the far end of the vegetable end, and about to make their way down the other side.
I usually follow the same path as everyone else at the salad bar, but today, I didn't. I noticed that there was precious little grilled chicken left at the salad bar. While I make the vegetables the primary part of my salad, I like a little chicken in it. I knew that there would be none left once the salad vacuumers passed it by.
So that's where I started my salad. I grabbed my container from the olive bar, and tossed four or five fingertip-sized pieces of chicken in it. The sound of protein hitting plastic alerted the salad bar witch, who was busy refilling the now-empty mushroom bin.
Normally, the Salad Bar Witch greets me with a tight-lipped glare whenever she sees me. But this was too much for her.
"Oh, no!" she called out. "We don't put that in first!"
"Why not?" I asked.
"We put the lettuce in first! Then we go clockwise around the salad bar."
The salad vacuumers were bearing down on me, but I decided to take my time. I continued putting stuff in my container. "Why can't I put this stuff in first? It's not like I'm taking all of it." I made sure I wasn't looking at the massive towers of salad-like substance in the vacuumers hands when I said that.
The Salad Bar Witch had no logical answer, so as usual, she repeated herself. "We put the lettuce in first. Then we put the toppings on, and then we put the dressing on."
A thought hits me. "But if I do it that way, all the dressing goes mostly on the toppings, which already has flavor. This way the dressing goes mostly on the lettuce, which doesn't have as much flavor."
One of the women trailing the vacuumers piped up. "Hey, that's right! What a great idea!"
The Salad Bar Witch started to say something, but another grazer joined in. "Where did you get that container? I hate these three-compartment ones."
"Over there at the olive bar," I told her.
"No...we don't use those for salad," the Salad Bar Witch said.
"I do," I said.
The woman put down her three-binned container and went over to the olive bar, with the Salad Bar Witch chasing after her. I filled the container with lettuce, weighed and printed out my label, and left with a smile, and with what will certainly not be the last upside-down salad.
I like a little entertainment with my lunch.
Yeharr
But some people just bring it out in me.
Like my old nemesis, the Salad Bar Witch.
When I went to get a salad for lunch today, the line was clogged by two salad vacuumers. You know the sort: wide loads, whose doctors most likely told them that they should skip the fast food and eat more salads, who now overeat at the salad bar instead. Two of these people were working their way along the bar, heaping massive amounts of cheese, mushrooms, croutons, et c., on top of their two or three leaves of lettuce.
The salad bar at this store is two-sided island. One side has mostly vegetables, and the other side has most of the more interesting toppings: garbanzas, seafood, grape leaves, artichokes, grilled chicken, pepperoni, et c. Typical of most salad bars of this type, the assumption is one starts at the lettuce, and works ones way clockwise around the salad bar.
The two vacuumers were at the far end of the vegetable end, and about to make their way down the other side.
I usually follow the same path as everyone else at the salad bar, but today, I didn't. I noticed that there was precious little grilled chicken left at the salad bar. While I make the vegetables the primary part of my salad, I like a little chicken in it. I knew that there would be none left once the salad vacuumers passed it by.
So that's where I started my salad. I grabbed my container from the olive bar, and tossed four or five fingertip-sized pieces of chicken in it. The sound of protein hitting plastic alerted the salad bar witch, who was busy refilling the now-empty mushroom bin.
Normally, the Salad Bar Witch greets me with a tight-lipped glare whenever she sees me. But this was too much for her.
"Oh, no!" she called out. "We don't put that in first!"
"Why not?" I asked.
"We put the lettuce in first! Then we go clockwise around the salad bar."
The salad vacuumers were bearing down on me, but I decided to take my time. I continued putting stuff in my container. "Why can't I put this stuff in first? It's not like I'm taking all of it." I made sure I wasn't looking at the massive towers of salad-like substance in the vacuumers hands when I said that.
The Salad Bar Witch had no logical answer, so as usual, she repeated herself. "We put the lettuce in first. Then we put the toppings on, and then we put the dressing on."
A thought hits me. "But if I do it that way, all the dressing goes mostly on the toppings, which already has flavor. This way the dressing goes mostly on the lettuce, which doesn't have as much flavor."
One of the women trailing the vacuumers piped up. "Hey, that's right! What a great idea!"
The Salad Bar Witch started to say something, but another grazer joined in. "Where did you get that container? I hate these three-compartment ones."
"Over there at the olive bar," I told her.
"No...we don't use those for salad," the Salad Bar Witch said.
"I do," I said.
The woman put down her three-binned container and went over to the olive bar, with the Salad Bar Witch chasing after her. I filled the container with lettuce, weighed and printed out my label, and left with a smile, and with what will certainly not be the last upside-down salad.
I like a little entertainment with my lunch.
Yeharr
posted by Balloon Pirate at 5:04 PM
9 Comments:
I love the word Schadenfreude....
OK there are no rules about making salad and if your weighing your salad you can do what ever you please!
The Salad Witch needs...well she needs her salad tossed!!
Sweet Jesus in a thong..now there are salad police?
This is what happens when the religious right takes over.
*L* its amazing how we can be so easily amused.
Die Salad Bar Witch, Die!
Oh man, Pirate, I laughed out loud today! I read it to my husband it was so good! Oh the visual. Brilliant.
Dude, you're the Pirate. You go in there and vanquish the Salad Bar Witch!
oh that's just too good
eeevillllll even
I can't believe she told you how you make your salad. You could have taken all the chicken and nothing else. There aren't any rules.
You're quite the trouble-maker! Can't wait to hear how you get the Witch next time.
I'm more interested in fat folk eating salad...
This is a conformist society. When you don't conform, you get the wrath of those who can't deal any other way. I won't even communicate with those poeple. I try not to laugh at them to their face, but sometimes I'm just not strong enough.
Her "we" is the best part, especially as she is trying to tell you what "we" (you) don't (shouldn't) do.
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