I exit the Circulator across from what used to be McKeldin Fountain (soon to be part of a soulless waterfront development), cross Light Street and drop into the Starbucks midblock, not to “people watch” (as I can’t sit down/get up without pain since the accident in 2018 anyway), but because it breaks up my walk back and, as it turns out, reminded me that I was out of cash (spent the last of it on a popcorn and a drink at the movies).
Cross Calvert Street is the vacant shell of what used to be The Gallery, followed by a parking lot and a half-used block with a Chik-fil-a and a Shake Shack before getting to the little patio connecting Capital Grille’s valet station to Chipotle and Fogo de Chao (and very likely a headhouse for the “Marketplace/Aquarium” stop for the upcoming Red Line).
More importantly to this story, at the end of the block is the world’s most conspicuous ATM. Definitely use at your own risk, as there’s (almost) always someone shady camped out there.
“Hi,” the random guy said intercepting me the second my foot touched the curb. “I’m asking everyone a question: What is the average weight of an adult polar bear? Go on, taigga guess, on behalf of ADF and International Autism Day!”
I shouldn’t HAVE to “guess.” I follow various environmental and zoological blogs – including Polar Bears International – but the best my brain could come up for this basic trivia item was “300-600lbs” which is obviously too small to be a serious guess, but more importantly…
“You mean ‘WORLD Autism Awareness Day’ which is April 2nd. I’m Autistic, and I follow various Autism blogs in the US, Britain, and New Zealand and this is my first time hearing about an ‘awareness day’ in January or – and I’m not suggesting anything untoward – whatever ‘ADF’ is. Autism Day Foundation? Autism Diag…”
It didn’t matter. He was gone, left to retrieve his supervisor to educate me on my condition. Sure, I’ll wait right here in the middle of the sidewalk so I can continue a “conversation” I never asked to be in… or I can continue on my way and hope they don’t follow me (which wouldn’t have been hard to do as the valet and I were the only other people on this normally bustling corner).
Anyway, the homeless person “guarding” the ATM remained asleep during my transaction. That marble wall can’t be comfortable, but I can’t afford another guilt trip about carrying around money while she melodramatically “starves to death” in front of me due to situations beyond my control.
Speaking of which, I am kinda hungry (as I only got a small popcorn at the movie, and it was empty before the previews ended). Conveniently enough, there’s an IHOP literally three feet from the machine. Being directly across the street from the city’s largest tourist attraction should be a major boon for them, but only a handful of tables were occupied.
I enter the revolving door to find three bored-looking waitresses milling about the Maitre’d stand. One of them reluctantly turns around, looks me over with an audible scoff before asking if I was eating in or picking up. Her exasperated sigh when I told her “eating in” sounded almost defeated as she picked up a menu and an insert and asked if I wanted “counter or table.”
“Table. I don’t want a booth,” so she took me three, or was it four, steps before tossing the menu/insert unceremoniously into the first flat surface she came to.
“Excuse me,” I said politely. “I asked for a table. This is-”
“This IS a table. Geez,” she snapped, turning around to glare at me, while rolling her eyes so I knew how stupid my question was.
“Actually, it’s a booth. I already know what a table is.”
“WHAT WAS THAT,” she roared loud enough for the entire block to hear her.
This a trap.
Answering this “question” leaves me open to a potential macing and/or physical assault (so I learn my lesson on not doing anything wrong), but NOT answering is worse because it “confirms” I’m “too cowardly” to defend my incendiary positions… whatever they are.
“You’re mad at me because you insulted me,” I said, determined not to turn into dad (who would have gleefully ripped her a new asshole with the entire restaurant watching AND gotten her fired for the privilege).
“Fine,” she seethed, collecting the menu/insert off the booth’s table, spinning around 180 degrees and throwing them angrily on the even smaller table to my left. “Now,” she snapped. “What do you want?”
“I’d like to sit down.”
Well, I thought that was funny.
“I meant drinks or appetizers! Argh, how do I always get the dumb ones?”
“Ice water and-”
“They’re listed on the menu.”
“I know. I said, ‘ice water’ and-”
“Back page.”
I take a deep breath, which worked as well as her “suggested sell.”
“What da hell is wrong with you?”
“EYES…WAD…TUR… AND… MOZ-”
“Ice water and Mozza Sticks? Got it,” she said in a normal tone. “I’ll come back later.”
Nothing else to report here other than my appetizer and main course (a simple cheeseburger) coming out at the same time. Oh, and it’s “350-700 kilograms [700-1500lbs],” so I was sorta right… just got my measurement system wrong. Speaking of wrongs, I didn’t have any $1s for a tip, and I’m probably more broken up about it than she was.
Don’t worry, because the 7-Eleven around the corner was already out of milk – and snacks! Instant karma… or was it slightly delayed karma from the ADF guy? Maybe, I shouldn’t have been so hard on the movie… or, maybe, it was just the regular pre-storm rush.
Life in the Uncanny Valley 