“Is the fish wild or farm fed?” (They usually don’t know and have to go ask someone)
“Is the filet corn fed or grass fed?” (Ditto)
“May I please have it well done and not medium?” (Not such a problem)
“Is it goat or cow feta?” (They are always miffed by this one as they assume that feta is goat but both kinds exist)
“May I please have the dressing on the side? Then later I ask for olive oil. (Pain in the butt)
“Is it organic?” (A simple yes or no usually follows)
“Do you use MSG?” (Depends upon where you are but most will say no anyway and I am impressed when they say yes that they tell the truth!)
“Is the soup made with milk or with cream?” (Never an immediate answer they always have to go check and ask about that one)
“Is the soy sauce low sodium?” (They never know for sure but they make the answer up)
“Is there flour in the sauce?” (They usually think that they know the answer to this question but they don’t)
“Do you have anything that is Gluten Free?” (They usually have no clue)
“Is the sauce made with butter?” (This can also be really confusing because I can have butter and cream but otherwise I am milk-free)
“Can I have the eggs benedict with no bread and no ham?” (What’s the point?)
“Are the eggs organic and/or fertile?” (So far I wonder about this but I have not yet asked as I am sure there is no answer to this question)
Water without ice; wine without sulfates; Mojito with splenda, the list goes on.
They all probably wonder why I go out to Restaurants at all.
I always warn the waiters that I am one of those complicated “orderers”. When I am on the East Coast, I just use the excuse that I am from California. When I am in California, I just explain to them that I am “one of those people” because I know that they know what I mean (I am not the only one!). I warn them because I assume they are not going to like me because of my special needs. This is how it was when I was younger. Back then, in restaurants I asked for meat well-done, hearts of lettuce with nothing but salt, and ate only white things: white bread with butter and turkey, angel food cake with white frosting veal which was pretty close to white, and pizza slices with everything wiped off. I guess special food orders were the way I could exert my power because it was the only aspect of my life that my mother could not control. I also believe it was my way of getting attention (I was the fifth child of ten pregnancies, five survivors). But my mother always made a huge deal, scolded me and apologized to the wait staff for my neediness. It just was not acceptable or polite to have needs.
That’s probably one reason why I warn the waiters-I want them to like me. I can not tolerate being disliked. Unknowingly, in this weird way I form a kind of immediate connection with the waiter because we have bonded over my needs. I have told them my needs and they are usually happy to comply and I usually get what I want. They want to make me happy. I exerted my power by challenging the “heaven forbid that I draw attention to my needs” in a restaurant because my mother cared more about what other would think if she argued with me in public. Now, when I actually get what I want, I feel like I deserve it. Sometimes the waiters make a big fuss and they are so proud of what they were able to accomplish to make me happy and I am always impressed. I also reward them with an appreciative tip. For awhile, being a cancer patient meant that I had a good excuse for getting my needs met. Now that it has been a few years I no longer want to use cancer as an excuse to get what I need. Excuse. That may be the key word here. What is my excuse now? What was my excuse for the past 50 years of my life. Why do I need an excuse to express what I want or what I need in order to get attention, be liked or take care of myself? Food for thought.