Susan and I went to our favorite neighborhood diner for lunch one afternoon. There was a new waitress serving us, an Eastern European girl—you could tell by the garish make-up--and apparently it was her very first day. I ordered a split pea soup and grilled cheese, and when the soup arrived, the waitress gave me a t-spoon to eat it with. “Could you bring me a larger spoon,” I said.
I guess I wasn’t being specific enough, because when the waitress returned, she brought me a selection of spoons: a soup spoon, a table spoon, and a long-stemmed iced-tea spoon. I selected the soup spoon. “This really large one is a table spoon,” I said, figuring I’d clue the girl in for future reference. “It’s used more for serving. And this long one is an iced-tea spoon.” I picked it up to demonstrate: “You see, it’s long so you can get down to the bottom of the glass.”
The waitress rolled her eyes at my stupidity. She spoke good English, albeit with an accent. “It’s a matter of individual preference,” she said. (Ed Hamilton)
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