Classy Places, Classy People!

When you frequent classy places, you meet classy people.

But tonight, I dined at Golden Corral, so that wasn't the case!

Truth be told, I wanted to go to The Cheesecake Factory. But having just come from the hair appointment from hell, and looking like a brokedown, orange haired Shirley Temple, I didn't feel classy enough to dine there. (I hold TCF in the highest regard...remind me to tell you how I stood in line for hours just to have the distinction of being TCF-Raleigh's first customer. I digress...) And moreover, I didn't want to run into anyone I knew with my hair looking like it did, soooo to Golden Corral we went.

If you've never been to a Golden Corral, let me set the stage... (Mind you, I haven't been to the Golden Corral in YEARS! It was the sneezing incident of '07...a serving spoon, some mashed potatoes, and a germ splattered plastic buffet protector that has kept me away for so long.) As you approach the parking lot, the fresh fragrence of grease fills the air. Inside, it is immediately evident that this establishment is a favorite amongst folks with homes on wheels, ifyaknowwhatImean... The air feels germy, and the tables usually look dirty in a superficially clean sorta way.

But I'm not knockin' it (save the sneezing incident of '07), 'cause when I'm in the mood for some good ol'-fashioned artery cloggin' grease in unlimited abundance, it's defintiely my top choice.

I get our tray and drinks, pay "Shelsea", who is enthusiastically tending the register, and look for a table without food particles or wet rag residue. One fairly out of the way near the window will do the trick!

The instant I set the tray down, I hear the three men at the next table snickering, and I feel eyes on me. Two are thirtysomething and Black, one is White, sixtyish, very large, and clearly lives in one of the wheeled residences I mentioned earlier. They are all obviously factory workers or manual laborers of some sort. Between the three of them, shey share a full set of teeth. To move now would be too obvious, so I smile and nod (to indicate that I am not intimidated and could care less). The least hideous of the three mumbles "hmmmm...sho is fine".

Great!!! I reminisce about the love note I received (via the cashier) from the snaggle-toothed pancake flipper at Biscuitville one PMS Sunday in 1998. Good times! I pick up our chipped plastic plates, wipe them vigorously with a Wet One (you know I am a germophobe, right?), and head for the buffet.

Upon our return to the table, the large White laborer shouts at me,"Looka heah, my frien heah...he thank you a cutie!" He could as well have been wearing overalls with a wife beater and chewing on a sprig of wheat straw.

"Oh?" I smile and pretend to be engrossed in getting Jordann situated.

Obviously given the "in" by his large redneck friend, Phillip (as he later iintroduces himself) has the imaginary green light to approach our table.

"How you doin' tanite?"

"We are well, thank you. And yourself?" I thought I could fend him off with my super-proper grammar skills. No such luck.

"My name Phillip Barker." (Note the intentional omission of the requisite verb 'is'? Yeah...)

He extends his hand to shake. I, the germophobe, am completely grossed out.

"Phillip, I just washed my hands to eat dinner, sooooooooo..."

"My bad." He smiles with the intention of being charming. "So, we fi'in to leave, you think we could keep in contack?" (For those who have not yet secured their 2010 Edition of 'Powerfully Effective Urban Pick Up Lines', "Can we keep in contack?" has surpassed "can I get yo numba?" in both frequency of use and rate of success.)

"No, I don't think my boyfriend would like that."

And leave it to Jordann, who has been surprisingly quiet until this opportunity to share..."MOMMY, YOU DON'T HAVE A BOYFRIEND!"

No use in debating it with her, clearly she is much smarter than I. I can only smile at Phillip, who probably didn't even pick up on the fact that my 4-year old just busted me mid-lie.

"OK," Phillip says, "if you change yo mind, look me up. Phillip Barker. I lives in Durham."

Yes, Phillip. I'll be sure to do just that. Certainly there is only one Phillip Barker in Durham. And I know you will be well worth the search.

And maybe the actual man of my dreams was at The Cheesecake Factory... If you see him, please let him know I'm sorry I missed our date...