Is that the Poo-Poo Platter?

That's it, I'm done with buffets. No, not the attractively built side-tables supplied by a fine furniture retailer near you, but the all you can eat for $7.99 kind. As enticing as the prospect of cheap, plentiful food may be, I've finally decided that there's no way that it's worth the undiluted bull-crap you have to go through to get it.

First there's the limited variety of food available at the average buffet. Granted there is the occasional steak, or the Fridays only RackO'Ribs deal, but on average, the cuisine is pretty basic fare. And once you get past the meat-loaf, the lima beans and chinese noodles, you have to deal with the fact that its probably been there for a while. Like longer than the average Twinkie on your local Piggly-Wiggly shelf. I don't consider myself terribly picky about food, but wrinkled gravy that looks like the back of my Great-Aunt Sarah's arthritic hands, isn't particularly appetizing. Not to mention the increased odds of a salmonella induced hospital visit.

Then there's the wait staff, I don't want to point fingers here, but is it illegal for the waiters and waitresses at a buffet restaurant to have a high-school diploma? It also seems as if buffets are the third most likely industry "for those new to our shores", right after 7-11's and cheap motels. Those who know me well, know that I don't have a prejudiced bone in my body, however, I would like to call attention to the fact that rarely, do I see a native born American working in these joints. When I do, I always spend a few minutes of my meal trying to figure out if it's the same person I saw on the evening news, reporting a UFO landing near their trailer park. Please, don't think that I'm ungrateful for their labors, quite the contrary, I appreciate every iced-tea they'vthey've ever poured for me, every mint or fortune cookie they've brought to my table. But it would be really nice, not to need an interpreter to ask for a coca-cola!

Finally, (and here's what really made up my mind) I am sick of waiting behind some old fart, ( and it's always an old fart) who spends fifteen minutes picking the shrimp out of the Lo-Mien. I never noticed it before, but it seems that at least one side of every heated buffet table is adjacent to a wall, with not enough room to get around the fat old fart. There he is, bifocals sliding off his steamy nostrils, barring all progress forward, and waiting on this picky turd is one of the banes of my existence. Worse even than the old fart who wants only the shrimp, is the 5 year old who wants to touch everything. I know where 5 year old children put their hands, and I know how often they wash them too, so I'm not fond of thinking those same hands have touched the fish. All of the fish. What's the deal with parents cutting their children loose in restaurants anyway? My mother finally let go of my right hand for the first time, when I was 13 years old, and then only because people were starting to think I was her date.

I'm just not going back, I just can't see any reason to endure the aggravation to save a couple bucks. It's not worth prostituting myself for the all you can eat, so, the buffet line has seen the last of me.

Well, at least until they have the Fridays-only Rack O'Ribs deal again.

Fotno