<i.>
The minute we checked out the menu, I knew we were in trouble. The Squawker and I had stopped off at this roadside diner, Paisano Italiano, for lunch, while running the usual errands that tug at your brain, and wear down your patience, but still have to be done. We'd eaten here a couple years ago, but if you like something once, you'll like it again, right?
But I began having second thoughts when I scanned the prices. The cheaper meals started at $11-12, and rapidly escalated from there, to $15, and up.
So I quickly flipped the page, and looked at the sandwiches. "This might be the only thing I can afford here," I told Squawker. "Otherwise, I'm not sure how this'll work, even if we just get water to drink." This is what you tell yourself between paydays: decisions, decisions.
"Yeah, I see what you mean," Squawker said. "It looks like it's about 50 percent more than what it was last time."
The waitress continued to flit around, wiping a table here, our table there, darting over to the register for a quick sidebar conversation with some regular or other. Getting her attention hadn't been easy. Keeping it looked harder still. I steeled myself, and kept looking. Surely, I told myself, there's something I can afford here...
<ii.>
The waitress flitted back over. "Need a few more minutes to decide?" she asked. We both nodded.
I gestured at the menu. "I think I'll have stick with a burger, which is... Okay, there's one for $5.75. Everything else is six, seven bucks and up."
"Sure you don't want to try the pizza buffet?"
"Well, that's 20 bucks, and the thing is..." I lowered my voice. "By the time you include the tip, it'll be $25 or $30 when we leave here."
"All right." Squawker shrugged. "I think I might have to get a meal, though. Spaghetti with some meat, I think."
"No add-ons for us, I guess." I forced a smile, and gestured to the waitress. "I think we're ready now."
<iii.>
The waitress returned, her order pad poised. "All right," I said, "I think I'll get the Classic Paisano Burger, and..." I scanned the menu once more. "Do you get fries with that?"
The waitress shook her head. "No, that's a separate item."
My eyes clouded over. "What? I can't do that, oh, wait..." There they were, for a single ($1.59), or a double ($3.75). "No, no, no, forget it. I can't do that."
The waitress rolled her eyes, and threw her hands on her hips. Her lips froze into a sarcastic flourish. "Welcome to Paisano Italiano!" she said.
"You want to go?" Squawker asked.
"I think we better," I sighed. "The way this is going, I'm not sure this is the place for us."
I took a quick last look on our way out. The room had gotten a little fuller, as the lunchtime crowd were beginning to filter in. They all looked older, though, sixtysomething and up. Of course, I told myself. Retired Baby Boomers, from the looks of it. Great jobs at great wages. Everything worked out swell for them. For me, not so much. Who else could afford this place now?
We headed back into town, and settled on our favorite taquiera. They had lunch specials for a fiver each. Or maybe we could split a burrito. Either way, those options looked a lot more pleasant than the situation we'd just encountered. Our mindless errands still beckoned. Such is life. --The Reckoner
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