I love my friend Dez. She’s one of the most generous, kind, and attentive friends in my circle. I was utterly delighted when she asked me to dinner last night at a nearby bar. This place isn’t fancy, but I wouldn’t call it a “dive” per se. Local bar. Bar food. Hipsters, but still sports on screens. You get it. So Dez orders her buffalo burger, and I order my veggie burger. The dry house-made black bean burger is not spectacular, but palatable. I didn’t specifically ask, but Dez seemed content enough with her buffalo meat. Neither of us finished our food, but we didn’t send it back either. As we are winding up our meal, a shocked and curious look came over Dez’s face. My back was to a long row of windows facing the street, so I figured one of her Plenty-of-Fishermen passed by or something.
“WHAT?!” I asked.
“There’s a roach on the wall.” She replied calmly. Dez is a fantastic nurse, so she knows how to maintain composure when lesser women might squeal with girlish horror. I turned and at shoulder height, in no particular rush, was an inch long roach. I immediately switched seats away from our little friend and stared incredulously at its unmitigated gall. This isn’t the roach prom, why are you out here parading around little guy?We had already turned our payment over to the waitress. She brought around our charge slips. I pulled her in closer, looked her in the eyes, and said “there’s a roach on the wall.” She looked up and said, “Oh, I’ll tell the manager.” And that was it. No reaction. No capturing and killing of the roach. No apologetic manager. No apologetic waitress. No begging to keep this little incident off Yelp. Concerning non-reaction, no?