Drunken Pumpkin

My wife and I were out shopping at the local mall and decided to hit the MCL Cafeteria there. MCL is a Cafeteria style restaurant found in the Midwest, specifically Indiana, Illinois, and Ohio. It is a truly bizarre experience, in my opinion.

Okay, you all remember the Cafeteria from school, right? Imagine that; random food selection, standing in line with a tray, and someone handing you food over a sneeze guard. Now, this is certainly a better selection of foodstuffs than we ever got at my schools, but it does put me in the memory of third grade, which is a little shake of the reality tree.

I don’t know about the rest of you, but when I go into a restaurant for the first time, I’m usually a little confused about what I want to eat. And MCL was no different for me, but now, the lady that was going to serve me was standing there looking at me. My wife had a minor panic attack about making her decision under pressure and made me choose first. With nowhere to run I made a snap decision on the salad, and then got some chicken, because chicken is always a safe bet. The food was okay, but who cares? This isn’t a review.

The true joy that we had really had nothing to do with the food. It was the way that two things that have no right being together, Cafeteria service and family dining, tried to fit together. The food service really was like the mission kitchen that I used to volunteer at (though with much better food), but then you would go out to a warmly lit dining area all decked out in earth tones. Granted the wall paper on one side was giant flowers, gingham on the other, and stucco an yet another wall, but you get the idea.

The really interesting bit was the waitress that came around and asked if everything was okay and later refilled my beverage. I was a little confused by this, as I had assumed that we got that one shot with the soda, and I had been using my European skills to conserve mine.

And last, but not least, was the question of bussing the tables. In a cafeteria you clean up after yourself. At a normal restaurant people are paid to pick up after you. And here we were at a bizarre hybrid of the two. After deciding that we would have to wait too long to follow someone else’s lead and failing to see any trash cans or windows full of hairnetted workers we just left the stuff on the table and fled.

Of course, I was wearing the kilt, so I figured if we did anything that was a bit of a faux pas I would be blamed for being some kind of idiot, and I was completely okay with that. It’s nothing new, really.

Tune in tomorrow when I give my lament to the fact I didn’t win the lottery over the weekend and have to return to my trek across the country making the world a little less stupid.