The hamburger coup de grace: why I shouldn't eat in public

I laugh because it is funny and unexpected, my life of going to restaurants. I whine because I've had only a handful of normal meals in almost 20 years. 

My friends are convinced I did something terrible to the food gods and a result of karma that something goes awry in roughly half my public eating experiences. Usually it's mundane and easily remedied, such as getting the wrong meal item.

Or a server suddenly breaks down over bringing me ketchup and has to be taken away in an ambulance. 

Or leaving the restaurant I find mimes blocking the path to my car.

Or a menu at my table is set on fire.

Or I'm told by Hardee's employees an hour after the restaurant opened that I'll have to come back later because they aren't done fixing their hair.

 Or my sandwich arrives inexplicably with no bread (3 times and counting. My fault, perhaps. I did say "meat and cheese only on the sandwich, please...")

Or being soaked head to waist by a rogue dish washer at a Waffle House.

Or the woman at McDonald's who asked me if I wanted a drink with the Coke I ordered. Clearly she misunderstood me, yes?  "Oh...no, I said I want a small Coke," I explain. Her angry response: "And I said, 'do you want a drink with that?!'"

And then there's the sourdough burger at Jack in the Box. Sometime around 1999 I started counting how often my burger had mayo even though I order it without every single time. 22 out of 26, to be exact.

The last time was a few years ago. I went inside and politely asked for a new sandwich. The employee scoffs. I assure him it is worse for me, as this is the 22nd time this has happened. A man ordering next to me listens intently. I wonder if he thinks I'm crazier for counting or for continuing to order this sandwich (both?). The employee makes a snide comment as he walks into the kitchen that is apparently too much for the patience of the man next to me.

He reaches over, grabs the burger, and throws it at the worker's head. Hamburger patty and cheese and buttery sourdough slap against the floor. I am shocked, horrified, satisfied. I smile at my warrior, basking in the victory of our hamburger coup de grace. Gone are the days of the sourdough burger. I can't go back. It will never taste better than this moment. 
 
  
The Watershed: do I give up dining out? Or continue to sacrifice myself to the food tantrum gods so that I have great stories to tell at my own expense? Maybe I'll decide after lunch. Which will be City Diner. Wish me luck. 

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