I really wanted an ice cream cone one day when my Dad and I were driving home from something. We went through the drive through (already something a bit odd for me) to order. I wanted a chocolate chocolate dipped ice cream cone.
“What size?” the woman behind the curtain asks.
What? I can get more that just 1 standard ice cream cone size?
I am at Panera Bread with my mom and all I want is a bowl of broccoli and cheese soup. I totally ignore the menu, which is dauntingly long, and find that they do have broccoli and cheese soup. The broccoli and cheese soup is not a vegetarian option. What could they possibly put in the broccoli and cheese soup that would not make it vegetarian? But I digress.
My mom is looking over the menu, not overwhelmed of course, and suggests a Mediterranean veggie sandwich. Alright, I’ll try that as well.
“I would like a bowl of broccoli and cheese soup and the Mediterranean veggie sandwich,” I confidently say.
“You can have that as a meal combo. You get a cup of soup and half a sandwich,” the waitress says.
“I…uh…fine,” I respond, quickly losing my confidence and patience.
“What would you like to drink?” she asks quickly, mistaking me for an American, thinking my brain can comprehend fast American English with no difficulty.
“Just a soda I guess,” trying to speed this hell along.
Geez how many choices do Americans need?
“And for 99 cents would you like to add any one item from our bakery?” the waitress politely asks.
All I wanted was a bowl of broccoli and cheese soup. Do the choices never end?
I did get to drink a lot of American beer. I ate pumpkin pie and cheesecake. I saw my family and a few of my friends. I got to meet Mrs. PV, my friend’s mom and my pen pal. I saw New Kids on the Block in concert, in Vegas.
ps: My mom also signed up for a Panera Bread card so she can receive email updates and coupons for future purchases. America.
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