As the world scoffs at America's problem with obesity, we still continue to eat at restaurants that add a little (or a lot) more cushion to our asses, thighs, and stomachs. It also contributes to the not-so-funny side effects of diabetes, heart disease, and death. I would be kidding myself if I said I didn't eat at these establishments more than I should. Otherwise, I wouldn't be truly "American". In addition to slowly clogging my arteries with greasy, processed foods, I recently found out you can also feed your ego (did you like that play on words? I'm so witty).
If you've ever eaten at a Chili's (honestly, who hasn't), you know what its environment usually consists of: the distant smell and sound of oil popping in the fryer, the clinking of glasses filled with half your daily value of sugar, the chatter of waiters/hosts working to get through their shifts, and a wide range of customers trying to pick their poisons. Possibly because of the red phallic symbol in the shape of a chili pepper, or the fact that our only other choice was Tex Mex, we ended up at Chili's front door for lunch. My last Chili's experience was very lackluster due to the douche factor of our asshole of waiter. Nonetheless, I decided to give them another chance.
We were greeted by our twink of a host. I giggled to myself because 1) I've seen him come into my Urban Outifitters store, and 2) I'm pretty sure he had the same cologne on as my boyfriend. After we were immediately seated, our waitress for the afternoon, Tangela, gave us a warm Chili's welcome. I love older black waitresses who have a "Big Mama" complex about them. Soon after, she proceeded to graciously compliment me on my hat, exclaiming how cute and adorable I am. Of course, my boyfriend responded with..."Isn't that my hat?" Nope, it is indeed not. Don't be jealous, gurl. Little did he know, I was about to make my gay mark on Chili's forever. After carefully considering our drink and food orders, Tangela glided to the kitchen. Finally, our margaritas (it was noon, so put away those judging eyes) were brought out as if it was our birthdays. Tangela and our twink of a host shook our shakers with the excitement of proud parenta. Normally, you are given your own shaker to pour, but not me. The twink felt the need create my setup and reach across to pour it for me. From the look on Tangela's and my boyfriend's faces, this was not normal. I was being treated like a celebrity in Chili's standards, and who was I to complain. Everyone needs a confidence boost here and there.
When our food was being brought by the fake enthusiastic girl serving the table next to us, who's order was put in wrong? Mine. This created a chain of events including apologies from what seemed like the entire restaurant staff. I'm a pretty patient person, but since I was the celebrity for the day, this warranted A-list treatment. I did not receive any sort of comp on my meal, so obviously I wasn't that A-list, or maybe I was just being reminded that we were at a suburban Chili's, not a 5-star downtown bistro. At this point, my tequila buzz is kicking in, so I'm milking this shit like a pregnant cow. After my correct meal was brought out sans ranch dipping sauce, Tangela continued to rave about my cuteness regardless of my boyfriend's dismay. I openly accepted these comments. The kicker was when she stated, "And someone else thinks your cute as well." Who else would she be talking about except our twink of a host? I couldn't help but laugh, even when my other half sarcastically deemed him as my "new boyfriend."
All-in-all, I am the new power gay of the Chili's Restaurant corporation. It doesn't matter if it is only in my head or not, but it's true nonetheless. Power gays also get overcharged for their meals. I guess that comes with the territory.
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