Neon Signs Lie

I don't know about you, but if something is advertised in a glowing pink neon sign, then I think that establishment better have what they say they have. It's incredibly annoying when they don't. Let me explain. 

I once again participated in Friday Night Dinner with my sister, fake brother, cousin, and cousin's girlfriend. The designated restaurant of choice was Rockin' Rogers on Commercial Street. Heidi and Jess were both a bit concerned that I wouldn't be able to find anything to eat on the menu, what with me being an herbivore and all. I assured them I would be fine, because I was remembering back to the one previous time I had been at Rockin' Rogers, and how I ordered off of the breakfast menu.

I really love waffles and french toast for dinner, because usually I am much too apathetic to make them for either dinner or breakfast on a regular day. Which, you know, is probably a good thing, considering they are not exactly the star item on the food pyramid.

On the way to Rockin' Rogers I begin to plan everything I want to eat. It's already two hours past my regular meal time, I've just got out of the gym, and I am starving. I think about how I am going to order a whipped cream covered waffle and a side of fries and a milkshake, even though I fully had eaten a piece of cake at lunch. I was in the "Who cares if I gain three pounds over the weekend?" sort of mood. So we get to Rockin' Rogers and sit down. I thumb through the menu looking for greasy, fatty goodness.

I finally see what I want: a Belgian waffle with whipped cream and fresh strawberries. I ask my sister and Travis if they are planning on ordering any fries, and if so, did they think I could eat a few? Maybe, eleven? They are like hungry wolves, so they growl at me and tell me no. So I thumb through the menu to see if I can get a side of fries on the cheap...just like, a toddler sized portion. I've gotten over my milkshake craving by this point.

Our waitress, Amber, comes over and greets us. She's wearing the typical 50s diner outfit: white shirt, black skirt, pony-tail, and a bubbly smile. She asks everyone what they want. When she gets to me, I tell her I want the Belgian waffle (I've gotten over my fry craving by this point). She tells me that the cook actually stops making waffles after two. I look at her with an expression someone might have if you've just told them that the Federal Reserve is out of one dollar bills. Amber asks me if maybe I want a burger instead, because everyone else at the table has ordered a burger. I tell her I am a vegetarian and thus do not eat beef. I begin to go into a panic over the menu. Amber's standing there, waiting for me to make up my mind, and I've got four pairs of hungry eyes staring at me, urging me to hurry up so we can get our order in. I half think about getting the veggie omelet, but I reflect on how I really wanted that deluxe carb-loaded waffle.

"Can I get french toast with whipped cream and strawberries?" I ask. Amber says yes. Because they make french toast after two, what a concept. Then she asks me if I want just the french toast, or the french toast combo. I ask what the difference is. Apparently the combo comes with eggs and a side of bacon or sausage. I state once again that I am a vegetarian, and thus do not eat pig. My fry craving starts to return. "Can I get eggs and a side of hashbrowns instead?" I ask. You'd think I was asking her to peel the potatoes herself, because then she tells me "I could, but I'd have to charge you extra." I would just like to note that meat fully costs more than potatoes do. Come on. I decline and stick just with the french toast.

Next, Amber asks us if this is all on one check. Everyone at the table is quick to point out who's together. "Us two are on one check, and they're on another, and she--," they point to me "--is by herself." You know, like last time at Applebee's. But then things start to get funny.

"Do you think you could find a table of cute guys to buy her meal for her?" somebody asks Amber. My sister then points out the table of four guys who are sitting about eight feet away. Then Heidi and Jason are like "yeah, ask one of them, please, Amber? I'll give you a dollar if you just ask."

"I'll also give you a dollar to ask one of them."

"Hey, wait a minute, if you do that, you could pay for about half my meal," I say. But then my sister says, "If you get all of them to buy her dinner, then they each would only have to pay like two bucks."

Our server is starting to laugh at this point. I'm pretty sure she's fresh out of high school, and all of this is really entertaining for her. She's up for a bit of mischief.

"No, don't ask. Just tell the guy in the hat that he's buying her meal," my cousin Jason says.

Our waitress is in on the conspiracy, because she goes over and talks to the table of guys. I'm 99 percent sure they already know what's happening, on account of how we were all really loud and they probably overheard everything we just said. I try not to look at the other table, but the rest of my family is gaping at them.

"Now look over there and smile," my sister says. It's a good thing I was more amused than I was mortified, because I actually turned to look at them and gave a cheesy smile. If I could get someone else to pay for my dinner, what the heck? After I smiled at the guys, we all started laughing. By we all, I mean the people sitting at my table only.

After Amber was out of earshot, I lowered my voice, because I was still peeved about the whole no-waffle-after-two thing. "You should not have a pink neon sign glowing in the front window stating that you serve breakfast all day, when, in fact, you do not. Unless they added another neon sign that says in parentheses 'except for waffles after 2pm.' I mean, is making a waffle really all that difficult?"

Later, after Jason's appetizer has arrived and I've mooched a mozzarella stick and an onion ring off of him, I notice that the table of guys has left. I point this out to my compadres. "Wait, is one of them going to buy my dinner or not?" I joke. Amber hasn't come by since, and we never actually overheard what the guys' response was.

When our waitress refills our water glasses, we ask. She says, "Well, they did say that the two on the end were single, and one of them left this."

I added that mustache so you wouldn't be able to see his number and call him to tell him about this blog. Notice the reflection of the lying neon pink sign?

Thanks, Keith, but I didn't want your number. I wanted my meal paid for. Travis, Jess, Jason, and Heidi all start to analyze the receipt, and they're like "Look, he only tipped one buck! No wonder he didn't pay, he's cheap!"

I cut my losses and consumed every slice of french toast and every spoonful of whipped cream. I would also like to point out at this time that Rockin' Rogers' advertisement of "fresh strawberries" literally means a load of strawberry flavored sauce with two actual strawberry halves in it. This was an additional disappointment.

As the meal was winding down, Jason gave me his plate with leftover fries on it. I ate some of  them and was glad I had not ordered any. They were the super skinny type fries saturated in grease. I prefer the fatty sized fries. You know, the ones that are 1/8th of a potato? I ate a few more, nonetheless, just to show you the sort of self-control I have.

Jess/Travis and Jason/Heidi apparently go to Rockin' Rogers a lot, and I told them that this just wasn't going to work for me, due to the restaurant's lack of good food. I really appreciated Heidi's enthusiasm to have me keep coming to Friday night dinners, because she started to brainstorm with me a list of better places we could go to eat. We'll just have to wait and see what happens next time.