Flavor Savor

Lately, I've been doing a joke about how my life is good, and that I'm having trouble writing jokes.

Truth is, yes, life is relatively good, but I've always hated trying to "write jokes". Don't get me wrong, I like writing. Sometimes what I say is funny. But I've never really envisioned myself a joke writer. I would dread having a writing job for something like Leno, or even the Daily Show, because I'm not sure I could pump anything that funny out on demand. Furthermore, I don't like writing current event stuff anyway, and it seems that that's the only road there is to take for comedy fame.

But I like writing. Which is why I just got up out of my bed. I thought of something funny, and I got right up at 3 am to write it down. And how could I not write it down? The joke is in reference to me recently seeing a woman in my restaurant put Sweet n' Low in her tomato basil soup.

I'd never, ever seen that before. No, that's not some charming "Texas thing". It's not a thing at all, other than a cry for diabetes. I wanted to just tell her, "Ma'am, everyone can see you do that. Cut it out."

At first, I didn't find this funny at all. Half of my brain didn't, anyway. This is the half that hates writing jokes. This is the half that takes watching the news way too seriously. This is the half that thought voting for Barack Obama would make things better. It thinks the idea of dumping a pink packet of fake sugar into a perfectly delicious and savory soup is universally disgusting and embarrassing. This half of my brain wants this woman punished for her alarming public gluttony. It wants to see remorse or shame. It needs it. This is fucking serious, for cryin out loud! Wake up America!!!

Then there's the other half of my brain, which is less impulsive and more patient. It saw things this way:

This is the same restaurant where, every day, people wade their slices of pizza, no matter what's baked onto it, in our "house-made" ranch dressing. House-made just means one of the waiters stirred packets of Hidden Valley Ranch dressing mix, which is equal parts unnamed "herbs" and MSG, into an industrial-sized mixture of buttermilk and mayo. That's it! Buttermilk and mayo. And salt. These people are dipping not just pizza, but EVERYTHING. Strombolis, sandwiches, you name it. Nothing is safe from our "house-made" ranch. Oh, and it's not just for dipping, either.

One pasta dish we serve is rigatoni noodles and veggies sautéed in a chipotle pesto cream sauce, which is basically our alfredo sauce mixed with chipotle pesto. Well, that wasn't good enough for one behemoth of a woman, who poured a full four ounces of ranch over the whole dish. To the cooks and other normal folk, the dish is ruined. Inedible. A mistake a five-year-old would make. But to this lady, on this day, it was the only way she was going to enjoy her lunch. The saddest part is this is only one of many times I've witnessed this happen, and not just in this restaurant or even this town.

So, no, the woman who put sweet n' low in her tomato basil soup wasn't more depraved than any of the every day regulars that come in and fill themselves with mayonnaise, dough and iced tea. No, she was simply more original. She looked around the restaurant and said, "well, no one's done this yet."

Sweet n' Low in Soup Lady is an American inspiration. She's got that 'can-do' spirit. She's inspired me to figure out what I'm really going to do with my life. Perhaps that lady knew everyone was watching, and did it not only despite the people watching, but for them. She had to know it was a ridiculous and socially abhorrent act. I mean, she had to know that, right? But, perhaps she did it because she wanted to show the people something they had never seen. Something subtle yet shocking. Quiet and yet incredibly wrong. She did it on her own in a public place, and no one said a word. She won. I'm left wanting to know why and how she came about the decision to do that, and she gets to go home and think about what else she can inappropriately sweeten. She's on the move. She's got direction.

That's all I want.