"Ladies and gentlemen: the story you are about to hear is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent."
I wish this story wasn't true but sadly it is. The most distressing part of this story being that I have been inside and proceeded to consume "food" products from the Golden Corral. If it makes you feel any better I did not pay for this "nourishment" and no, I didn't steal it either. My spouse and I were at the scene of the crime for a free military appreciation dinner. The "restaurant" was packed to the chocolate fountains with all kinds of miscreants, people on rascals, toddlers the size of small adults and stretch pants...oh the stretch pants. The health code violations abounded and the ambrosia salad runneth over...quite literally actually, it ran into the industrial size tub of ranch dressing.
At approximately 8:55 pm (Eastern Standard Time), I became separated from my husband somewhere between the salad bar and the highly questionable "seafood" area. I was dressed casually, as one normally does when preparing to eat one's own body weight in hush puppies, soft serve ice cream and chicken tetrazzini. I was preparing to fill my soup bowl with my third helping of chicken pot pie soup (a truly unholy matrimony of foods, if ever there was one!) when a young man, no more than 17 years of age taps me on the shoulder. The adolescent stood no more than 6" 1' tall and the gauntness of his face, mixed with the rest of his slender frame and Insane Clown Posse (ICP) t-shirt caused me to question my own reality. How does one ingest a whole tray full of fried chicken and yet still appear to be so emaciated? Surely, the demonry of ICP would hold these answers and more. Pulling me out of my own diabetically induced philosophical melt down the youth proceeded to ask me, "Do you come here often? Are you here with any one?" I remember thinking to myself, "Do I come here often? No, who goes to Golden Corral often? And, if I did, why would I admit to such a thing?" I immediately shooed the young man away with a ladle full of cream of broccoli soup and quickly sought out my non-teenaged husband. Later, in our "dinning" experience, the exact same teenager managed to get himself into a full on fist fight with another youth by the endless pizza bar. Police officers were called to the scene to apprehend both parties.
I was left wondering. Did I miss out on the love of my life? Will the officer, in charge, accept this written testimony of love lost, weight gained, dignity cast away in a sea of jello salad and shame found in no less than three (Incredible Hulk sized) servings of macaroni casserole.