Lame, Party of two…

So Alex and I were out about today in Seattle’s University District. Like most major colleges located within a large city, the area is a sort of mish-mash of stereotypes. Urban hippes, rub elbows young hipsters toting the latest tech to spring forth from Steve Job’s brain, aging folksters in their cardigans and Birkenstocks mix with the fresh faced young types sporting the latest goods from the Gap and all the while the occasional just strange looking type is sitting on the boulevards asking you for spare change. Our destination was a movie, Superbad to be exact, and afterwards we were in search of food. Now this neck of Seattle is jammed full of interesting places that cater to filling starving college kids’ bellies with food from all over the world. Our destination, a vegetarian restaurant that has sat at the same corner since, well since I was a fresh-faced sophomore many, many years ago.

Entering the near empty establishment, we wait patiently next to the “please wait to be seated” sign. The all of six people in the place lazily glance up and made sure not to see us, especially the two folks working behind the counter. They did that oh so special, “I saw you but I’m going to do my best to pretend that I didn’t” thing. Politely we stood and waited, one should not be a jerk in these situations (that is if one wants to get spit free food delivered to their table), and did our best to give the proprietors the benefit of the doubt. Who knew, maybe this particularly dead Sunday afternoon was some kind of holiday for arrogant, self-righteous vegetarians? After a good five plus minutes of being actively ignored to the point of a server looking straight at us and then turning 180 degrees and walking away. Ok enough is enough, I can get a clue. Sure, we could have made a scene inside the restaurant, but between our hunger, my busted collarbone and a general sense that these jackasses just were not worth our time, we opted to vote with our feet and exit the establishment. Disgusted, we took to the sidewalk expressing our indignation in (perhaps a wee bit too) loud tones. Then it hit me; Alex and I were both decked out in leather boots and our leather motorcycle jackets! I think combined we were wearing more dead animal flesh than all the upholstery, shoes and belts in the joint combined.

Odd, while there was a “no shirts, no shoes, no service” sign, the “We reserve the right to be assholes to you if we don’t like your choice in clothing” sign was strangely missing.

Have no fear; in the end we did locate good and proper non-meat based sustenance. A quick jaunt to the international district and Alex and I are now walking down crowded streets where we are the only white people for blocks. A dozen dialects float past us as we make our way to one of our favorite vegetarian dim-sum houses. Rather than turn their noses up at the dead animal flesh we wore, they cheerfully offered to hang them up before seating us at our table where we happily feasted and laughed with the proprietors as they tried to offer us yet more savory delights.