Hunting the elusive burger

SUE CLARK

Once there was an older lady who loved to eat out. She lived in Costa

Mesa, so she availed herself of a plethora of culinary opportunities.

(Or, if you were not an ex-English teacher as she was, she went to a

bunch of restaurants.)

She was not one of those timid single ladies, who declared herself

embarrassed to eat alone in a restaurant. Quite the opposite. She’d

bring one of her mystery novels -- any Elizabeth George was popular

-- and happily nosh and read.

Her disco days were over; her new life was quiet. After having

prepared two marriages’ worth of nutritious food (she got out early

and the husbands didn’t, so she cooked), and having raised a child as

a single mom, it was time to have someone else cook for her.

Her favorite place if she had missed lunch at school and was

starving was a popular restaurant, part of a family-friendly chain.

It was mainly staffed by perky high school kids and was famous for

great burgers, shakes and all-American fare. However, things seemed

to be changing there, at least in her perception.

She still loved the burger, salad and fries combo, but the last

four times she had gone there, it had not been a good experience.

She’d been ignored each time.

This restaurant catered to young families, so she had written off

being ignored and having to go up and ask for a server the first two

times. The third time that she had once again gone up to the cash

register and asked for a server to come over, the manager had been

quite apologetic. It was just that it kept happening.

Since she loved the huge servings and the burgers, she decided to

go during the afternoon when it would be quieter. She had decided, no

matter how savory the food, if she didn’t get served, she would not

go there again.

After all, she told herself, if you go to a place during dinner

hour and have 50 young families with small children climbing up and

down the booths, giggling and crying, it could mean that a single

person might be missed. During a quiet time, she’d expect good

service.

The next time she dropped by the eatery, it was 3:30 in the

afternoon. Except for a few singletons and a couple of moms with

napping babies, the place was empty. She stood at the counter

determined not to get mad. She formed her mouth into a pleasant

smile, as it had a genetic tendency to droop to one side and looked

mean like her grandfather when she was tired. Her daughter used to

warn her: “You’ve got that mouth thing going, Mom.”

She smiled and waited. She thought, “Please notice me. At least

say hello. Please take me to a table. I skipped lunch, and I am so

hungry.” She waited. She continued to smile.

A high school-age server chatted on the phone to a friend and hung

over the counter laughing. Still the older lady waited. The right

side of her “mouth thing” began to droop a bit. The girls at the cash

register kept darting looks at the server. The server continued to

laugh and chat on the phone.

Cash register girl darted more evil looks at phone girl. Finally

the would-be patron gave up. She was too hungry to march out, so she

said, “Please, please, please seat me. I am so hungry!”

The cash register girl looked frightened and called a male server

from the depths of the restaurant. He took the lady to a table and

apologized profusely. This would not have happened if he were the

supervisor, he assured her. Then he left and she waited again. The

phone girl eventually came over and took her order, sans apology. He

said that the phone girl had misunderstood and thought the lady

wanted a takeout order.

The food didn’t taste as good as usual. Maybe she had lost her

appetite.

At any rate, she is now a regular patron of a rice-bowl takeout a

few blocks down. The food is half the price; the orders are large and

healthy; and the girl at the counter says, “Hi, Sue, want the chicken

veggie bowl with extra broccoli, easy on the rice?”

And Sue says, “Yes,” and her smile has no droop to it at all.

* SUE CLARK is a Costa Mesa resident and high school guidance

counselor at Creekside High School in Irvine. She can be reached at

[email protected].