A typical Wednesday for us consists of me going to Bible Study in the morning while Geric hangs out with the boys and then we meet up at Wahoo’s for lunch. Yes, it’s always Wahoo’s. We like it there.
Today I was sick and I didn’t want to infect all my Bible Study buddies, so I skipped it. But we still wanted to go out to lunch, because that’s what we do on Wednesday. We look forward to it. We budget for it. We HAD to go.
But Riverside doesn’t have a Wahoo’s. A travesty, really. Instead, we thought that we would try out this little place that someone had told Geric about. (I’m not telling you the name on purpose… you’ll see why in a sec.)
So, we’re walking in and as Geric is holding the door open for me he smiles and casually points to something in the window. I glance, don’t really notice and I keep walking. As we’re being seated at our booth it hits me. I realize what I just saw. A big blue B… as in, the rating for the restaurant.
I panicked. What does a B mean??? I mean, it’s almost an A. If I would’ve gotten a B in school I would be happy. So maybe a B in a restaurant means something really minor like they just forgot to wear hair nets, or the spatula fell on the floor and someone yelled, “5 second rule!” and picked it up, or maybe they just noticed only one employee that forgot to wash his hands before returning to work. (Insert barf sound here.) It’s not like it’s a C or they had to shut the place down, but still…
After the waitress handed us our menus, I looked at Geric and whispered, “I’m a little worried.” He asked why, and trying to be subtle and not advertise to all my fellow diners that they might just mightbe eating unsanitary food, I mouthed, “the B.” “What!” Geric practically shouted. I tried mouthing it slower, “the B.” “Huh?” he says as he gives me a blank stare. Seriously? Didn’t he just point it out??? So I wrote it in the air while mouthing, “the B.”
Geric’s response: “Oh Erin, that was just one day! One day when the health inspector came, something went wrong and they got a B. Don’t worry.” He continues browsing through his menu. Mind you, my husband actually dreams of living in a third world country one day. So, while every fiber of my being was shouting, “Run away! Don’t let your children eat poop!” we stayed.
Long story short, Jacob has had the runs all day and I have a massive headache. I realize that Jacob probably just drank too much juice and my headache is all psychological but I have resolved to never eat in a restaurant with less than an A rating. It’s not too much to ask, is it?