quarrel | from now on, I shall call it...Worsabi

It started at lunch, when I tried to get salmon on a bagel. (Funny thing about Southern California: wherever salmon appears on a menu, it's always "Atlantic salmon". They trump up that fact like they're saying "Kobe beef" or something. If I ever ran a restaurant, I would not brag that our fish was imported from the other side of the continent when the Pacific Northwest is two states away.)

Anyway, I tried to get salmon on a bagel, but they were out. They were out of hummus, too, which is odd. This is America. Who else but me eats hummus? "That's it," I said to myself. "Fish for dinner." You know what that means...Wasabi!

Despite not getting there until 8:30, the place was packed. I wait ten minutes, get seated, peruse the menu, and order when the waitress returns, which she does in good time despite the crowd. I start to order and the fragile illusion of Utopia shatters.

Under the Combo Platter item is a long list of foody-type items. You get two of them of your choice, plus a salad and miso soup. Simple, yes? Wait. One of the items is "6 Piece Sushi", with six different fish types listed after it. Another is "4 Piece Sashimi", with four different fish types listed after it. If you order the sashimi, you have to pick one of those four, and you get four pieces of that and that only. But if you order the sushi, you always get one piece of each. It's taken me two visits to figure out how that worked. I imagine right this very moment, somewhere in Japan, an old woman is telling stories to her grandchildren about evil trolls who hate people and make them unhappy by writing confusing menus.

So, order placed, it's time for a quick visit to the restroom. Hmm. Urinal won't flush. Seems to be broken. And the floor is damp. Very damp. Everywhere. Even to about ten feet outside the men's room door. I don't think it was broken. I think it had been overzealous and needed to be sedated.

Back to the table I go. I sit and commence waiting for my tea and soup. Five minutes pass. My dinner arrives. Unfazed, I continue to sit and wait for my tea and soup, passing the time by evesdropping on the waitress at the "Benihana-style" (their ad words, not mine) grill table ask the table's occupants if they wanted steamed or fried rice with their order. (Fried rice? At a Japanese restaurant?) Five more minutes pass. I get the tea and soup (and salad). Eating these helps pass the five more minutes I need to wait before I get that little tray thingie for my soy sauce.

Maybe I'll try the phone book next time.