The OG

The rule in our family is, if it is your birthday, you get to choose any restaurant to celebrate. My youngest wanted to celebrate their birthday at the OG.

Now, if you know me, you know that I don’t eat at the OG. Several months ago, my SIL wanted to celebrate her birthday there, and I went there… but I wasn’t happy. Just the idea of chain restaurants eek me out. Anyhow, my child wanted to eat there and while I silently protested to my hubby/bubbie, I simply couldn’t disappoint.

Upon arrival at the establishment (which I find horrifically grotesque), we had a short wait in the front area where a dehumidifier of sorts was blowing on my sock less feet. Imagining some type of water damage must have happened, that this industrial machine would be sitting there, naked at the entrance, I then could instantly imagine the moldy smell of the carpets and made a mental note to cut off my feet. Thankfully, they seated us before I opted to sit in my locked car.

Now, as far as I am concerned it is still Covid, but this original sized iPad was on the table, as well as the paper menus. Watching my spouse and eldest hold them with both hands as if first time drivers, I swallowed the vomit rising in my mouth.

As the waitress took our orders, I tried to calculate the F&B guidelines as well as the township health requirements, and prayed all was up to par. (Note to self, check post post). Amazed that the two ignoramuses on the other side of the table would just order as if at one of our preferred establishments, I ordered PLAIN noodles for my son (which came out with green flakes and still, the waitress shook her head at me- as if!) and I asked for soup and salad (just to be polite).

The first food came and hubby and eldest orgasmed over the all you can eat rolls, while me and Noodles sat staring. What I couldn’t believe is how vile my two pigs were, on the other side of the table- eating like we’re at home… and I continued to pray that the health ordinance passed.

When my youngest’s food came back correctly, he asked for salt. At this point, my mother came to sit with us as we were celebrating his birthday. Although I tried to milk the salt bottle with a napkin around it, the glares from the onlookers told me to just let him have it.

Watching him manhandle the actual salt bottle- touched by hundreds of people and undoubtedly, never sanitized, I calculated how much therapy my kids would continue to need if I grabbed the bottle from his now tampered hands. Another mental note, cut off his hands.

Meanwhile, the soup that had beans the size of the patrons’ acrylic nails, was sitting before me.

Bubbie: Rochelle, eat your soup.

Me: (STFU look) No, you eat, Bubbie.

Bubbie: I ate, but you enjoy.

*Bubbie ONLY came to see her grandson and would never have set foot either.

Thankfully, my eldest was still hungry and she ate the soup, while I grabbed hubby’s finished soup bowl and made it appear as if I’d eaten it.

If watching my family practically rub themselves in filth wasn’t enough, seeing them drink water from the glass threw me over.

No dessert! We’ll sing from home!

Needless to say, if just a few months before his next birthday my son tells me he wants to go back there, I’m canceling my life-saving prescription.

About Lady in Red

mom of 3
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