Buffet Madness

Went to HomeTown Buffet the other night.

It was my brothers’ birthday and we went there to celebrate.

I have come to the conclusion that anything with the word “Buffet” in it must translate into most folks brains as French for, “the place where I can drop tons of food on the floor and not pick it up” or Latin for, “the place where I can eat like a hog and waste everything on my plate and no one tells me to quit it” or German for, “the place where I can let my kids run wild and not supervise them….EVER!”

 There is no place on earth, (except maybe a hyena watering hole in Africa), where you can witness more carnivore madness than one of these fine restaurants. 

People wander the islands of delectable entrees , plates in hand wondering just what they can waste next. 

Really mister, would you put 14 chicken legs on your plate at home?  Seriously?

Once my mother witnessed a man who apparently was raised by wolves, plunge his meaty paw into a bowl of cantaloupe and extract his favorite perfect piece.  Immediately my Mama proceeded to stand guard over the bowl until she could grab a frazzled worker and ask him to remove the now germ infested vat of fruit. 

Being a mom, in all good conscience, she couldn’t leave her post at the salad section until it was discarded.

Thus she couldn’t chase him down and grab him by the ear…..Believe me, she would have if she could have.  

She would have made him cry……..

He would have been sorry if my experiences at church were any indication………

So my brother told us he saw some guy coming out of the restroom of this same restaurant with a piece of toilet paper hanging from his cracker, trailing majestically on the floor behind him not unlike Princess Dianas’ wedding veil.  

I’m sure it wasn’t the same guy. 

Mr. Cantaloupe probably never washed his hands in his life after using the potty, not to mention being a decent wiper.  I’m sure Charmin is not a frequent flyer on his shopping list.

So the other night I am calmly munching my plate full of goodies and I look down to see a child….under the table…..unattended……Eating bits of food off the floor like a tiny warm blooded lobster.

What is wrong with this picture?

Does anybody own Mr. Crab here?

His parents were nowhere to be found. 

Apparently a new rack of ribs was being unveiled and they wanted to be first in line.

Eventually they must have realized one of their spawn was missing and they came and dragged Captain Bacteria out from under the table legs ……….

By the way, if you are a Senior citizen, instead of going bungee jumping or sky diving, this place is a much cheaper alternative to add a touch of danger to your day.

Considering the child care issue, anyone sporting a walker or cane feels like a deer caught in the headlights of a semi in this joint. 

To little kidlets on the loose with full glasses of Yoo Hoo and 3 hot fudge sundaes in their armpits, age is no issue! 

“Watch out Gramps, I’m coming through!”  

Then there is the future fighter pilot who loves to watch the ice dispenser bombard the slippery tile floor with a thousand cubes a second…..

”Hey Beelzebub, Where is your mother?”

As a side note, when my kids were little, they used to have a full grown adult who dressed up as a “Bee” and was their restaurant mascot.  His or her job was to come out and terrorize little children and then give them  a balloon in exchange for traumatizing them into a stupor.

I don’t know if this practice still exists, but if it does.  Here’s a heads-up to “Mr. Bee.”

If when you are approaching a family and the minute the kid sees you, they spelunk up their mothers’ chest and perch on her head like a buzzard, that’s a pretty good indication that you need to back off!

I can’t tell you how many entire meals I consumed with a child planted on my head like a Lady Gaga creation. 

It’s not very relaxing….

Not to mention hot…

So take note and remember……

This rule applies to all life-size Disney characters as well as the huge Chuck E. Cheese Rat.

But the best part of this whole experience is the spectacle of the clean-up.

As mentioned before, any manners that have been cultivated over a lifetime seem to fly out the door when entering these hallowed walls.

So here’s a clue to all of you who are a member of the “Hog Trough” Club.  If while you are exiting the building you witness a giant door burst open complete with 6 guys in Hazmat suits driving a zamboni  who are coming to bus your table, that’s a pretty good clue you should go back and tidy up.

Who raised you?  A band of hobos?

I know it wasn’t my mother.

You wouldn’t have any ear cartilage left………..

And just for the record………

I didn’t have any cantaloupe……….

……..I’m just sayin’