"As restaurants in some states fire up again, proprietors wonder if the rich dining landscape will ever be the same."
Headline in today's Washington Post
I found a fly upon my soup;
I called my waiter nincompoop.
But he replied "We sterilize
our food 'gainst germs and even flies!"
And so I slurped it down full tilt,
and thought it smacked a bit of silt.
But that's because I did let slip
the fact my mask was on my lip.
I sat alone, no one was near;
the waiter my cries did not hear --
I waited long, and growing wroth,
I nibbled on the tablecloth.
White plastic was my silverware;
to carve a steak I wouldn't dare.
And so I ordered al a carte;
the fry sauce I thought rather tart.
And then my waiter disappeared.
He took his temp, and greatly feared
the Health Department would demand
his banishment to Swaziland.
At last the manager came by.
I paid in cash, but he did cry:
"Your filthy lucre has been barred;
We only take the plastic card!"
Well,I had had about enough
and so I said "Your meat is tough!
"Your salad bar would surely fail
to interest any cottontail.
Your fish is off, your pastries glue;
and so I'll not be paying you!"
He gnashed his teeth, I gnashed right back,
displaying lots of dental plaque.
He took my wristwatch with a snap.
(The laugh's on him -- it's Timex crap.)
Post-virus dining out sure blows;
next time I'll order Dominoes.
