Bee Cool

Today being Wednesday, the metaphorical cream to the Oreo cookie that is my week, I decided to venture outside (!!!) and eat lunch somewhere I had never been. Considering I try to restrict every meal I eat to the restaurant where I work so that it's free, I figured this wouldn't be too difficult. It wasn't, but what followed ... was.

So I walked as long as I could, fighting the pains of hunger, and ended up at this place that is about three minutes and twenty-five seconds from my apartment. I was immediately taken aback upon entering this establishment, which will remain nameless to protect the innocent (also, I don't remember it), because there was only one customer in the entire place. Always a good sign. Then, when I got close enough to the counter, said customer closed his newspaper and proceeded to go underneath the counter in front of me, because he, in fact, works there. Even better sign. After I adjusted to this role reversal and ceased treating him with respect, as to adhere to the rules of the service industry, I took a look at the menu. At least, what I think was the menu; to me, it more closely resembled a list of trees and plants I had to memorize for my 7th grade science class. Suddenly, I was unsure if I was there to eat or build a terrarium.

He invited me to ask him any questions I had about the menu, which luckily answered my original question. Now, here is where a common problem I run into took over. Any other normal person who isn't accustomed to eating things they can't pronounce ("sub-way." So easy.) would have just walked out. However, I have a strange need to "play it cool" in situations and thus, the urge to make it look like I knew exactly what I was doing and had meant to come there took over. The thing is, I don't usually make much of an attempt to be cool in front of people who know me; that is a lost cause. Yet, in front of total strangers, I usually aim to make myself look like I walked straight out of a Virginia Slims ad, which is like some uber-level of coolness, because 1) everyone knows smoking cigarettes is cool and 2) it makes me vintage-cool, because I'm pretty sure they stopped advertising Virginia Slims in the late 80s.

Anyway, I caved under the pressure and ordered the first thing I could pronounce. After the owner told me that the "delivery hours" weren't for sale, I went for some sort of salad. I'm sure you hear salad and a few various things come to my mind: for sure lettuce, tomato (hopefully salmonella-free), cucumbers, carrots; maybe you're the wild and exotic type and you hear "avocado, feta cheese, portabello mushrooms"; or maybe you're batshit crazy and you think of those McDonald's Salad Shakers. I don't know, but I'll tell you what you probably don't think of: sprouts, sprouts, sprouts, nothing but sprouts. Fine, I understand that sprouts are something that comes on salads and sandwiches often, but to be honest, if I didn't know better and I ordered a salad with sprouts on it, I would probably call the waiter back and say, "I'm sorry, but there is vegetable sperm on my salad."

Point is, this salad had nothing but sprouts. There were a few things on top of the sprouts, but there were so few that it looked like they were there by accident, like they had taken a wrong turn on the way to fertilizer they belong in and ended up on my sprout salad. As I ate my heaping bowl of sprouts, I began to wonder if my body was going to go in fat-storing mode, thinking that I must be trapped out on the side of a mountain or in the middle of the woods with no rescue squad in sight and no human companion's arm to gnaw on.

Let me interject to say that I am not trying to knock people who eat this type of thing on a daily basis or the kind staff at this establishment. It's just that I am not used to eating meals with less than 264% of my daily sodium intake. And trust me, for all my confusion at how this could serve as a suitable lunch, I ate my sprouts right up, like I was on death row and it was my last meal at Woodstock prison. And shocker, once I was done, my processed-food-loving American stomach wanted more. So I looked at the "menu" once again and decided to go for a smoothie. This one didn't have sprouts, and all the ingredients were fairly standard smoothie-fare, except for the ... bee pollen? Now, I know bee pollen is something people do eat and there are much stranger things people put in their bodies (opting out of the easy joke on that one), but I had never had it before, and all that kept running through my mind was how recently someone told me that bees are the most vital of insects because, quote, "if the bees all die, we all die." I don't know how much validity there is to that statement, but let's just say that the image of a T- rex telling his buddies to "lay off the bee sandwiches, bro" in vain until shit really hit the fan has crossed my mind.

My bee pollen-infused smoothie, nevertheless, was delicious. I was enjoying it whole-heartedly and was even about to ask where I could find a good pair of Birkenstocks in the neighborhood when I heard a buzzing sound near my right ear. I kid you not, it was a bee. You can imagine how awkward this was for me. He was just hovering there, like I owed him something. And sure, maybe I did, but I've never had a wild turkey give me the evil eye when I was enjoying a fresh-toasted (sprout free!!!) 12" delight.

Let's just say I'll be "staying fresh" from now on, if you know what I mean.