So this is one of my favorite restaurants, Baker's Crust, in the Ghent neighborhood of Norfolk, VA. Baker's is a kind of an upscale bistro, with really amazing rotisserie chicken, artisan bread baked on site, wonderful sandwiches, and really great soup, such as the kickin' corn and crab chowder. But I digress.
As we were being seated, I noticed that the hostess' eyes were dancing with supressed laughter. Mystified, I followed her until I saw it
Apparently no one has told this guy that crack kills or that wearing a gunbelt pulls your pants down, as does a toolbelt. This is why is is called "refrigerator repairman syndrome." And OF COURSE he is sitting in a hard-backed chair that has a wicker type material across the back and under one's posterior, but leaves everything else just right there and a'hanging out in front of everyone.
Half the staff was laughing, and I had tears rolling down my face. Our waiter, Timothy, who reminds me of a young man depicted in a wall mosaic found in the ruins of Pompei, came to the table, "Here's your bread and butt......uh butter," he said. I lost it again. There Mr. Butt Crack with the Smithfield Armory t-shirt sat...stolid, immoveable,and completely clueless.
So in an age which has become inreasingly ill-mannered and often unkind, perhaps I was both. Or maybe people with heavy belts need to get a clue and modesty is best practiced by both men and women. The air conditioning was on and, for the life of me, I cannot understand why he couldn't feel the air on an area of the body which shouldn't be hangin' out in the breeze.
So God rest Jack Roper, and God bless my friend Sarah and somebody give Mr. Smithfield Armory a clue. Who needs to see this while they're eating?
So we apologize for the interruption to The View from 256's Holy Week musings and return you to your regularly-scheduled blog, which is already in progress.