My Darling B and I have wanted to visit a meat raffle ever since we heard about them several years ago. It seemed like such an odd thing to raffle off. Why would anybody buy tickets to a meat raffle? It would be like raffling, I don’t know, socks.
We found our chance last weekend. A local brewery posted on their Facebook page that they would hold a meat raffle during the Cotton Bowl. We got there round about noon. It was already very busy, so we sat at one of the few tables left off to one side of the house.
Eventually the waitress came by. We quickly picked up on the fact that she was one of those people who is trying to win the trophy for most disinterested waitress. Didn’t say hi, no smile, didn’t make eye contact, and after taking our order said “okay” and rushed away without a thank you. I’m not expecting a butler in black tie when I visit a tavern, and I’m not exactly known for my social graces, but I like it when my waitress at least pretends that I’m not the biggest disappointment of her day.
She brought our beers shortly after we ordered, so points for that. She spilled some beer on her hand, which I don’t mind. I only mention it because she wiped it on her stocking. Then, while she was explaining the meat raffle, she noticed some spilled beer on the menu, picked it up without breaking her stream of consciousness, wiped the beer off the menu with the heel of her thumb, then dried her hand on the hem of her dress.
We asked for a couple minutes to consider the menu. She said okay, went away and, for twenty minutes, we wondered where she disappeared to. Perhaps “disappear” is stretching it a bit. Occasionally she would rush past us to serve people seated at another table, then rush past again without making eye contact to disappear for another five or ten minutes.
When I finally flagged her down, she seemed surprised. “Can I get you something?” I said we’d like something to eat. Oh, that. She explained that she didn’t get back to us right away because “I’m really busy, so unless I see your beer’s empty or you’re waving at me, I’m not going to come over.”
We ordered cold cuts, cheese and bread. Twenty minutes later, she brought us our food. Cold cuts were never so lovingly prepared. Then our waitress disappeared, never to be seen again until she asked us if we wanted the check. She never stopped by to ask us how those first few bites were tasting, never took the empty plates away from our table, never filled up my water glass.
I tipped her ten percent. I would’ve left a dollar, just enough to show I didn’t forget but didn’t have anything smaller, but My Darling B would have been mortified.
We didn’t win any meat, either. Very strange. B said she wasn’t going to leave until she won some bacon, so I trusted her to win some bacon. She always wins something at a raffle, even if it’s only the boobie prize. Also, we were each allowed to buy a number for each drawing, and one of us drew the number 26 every single time. Seemed like a lock, but she just couldn’t pull it off.