31 January, 2015. The plan was simple: Head to the Bonefish Grill for an early, light dinner. I’d been thinking about a dozen oysters on the half shell all week long, paired with a cold glass of Guinness. My glass was half drained when one of the servers came over to let me know that they were out of oysters.

“Really?” I exclaimed. “On a Saturday? At 4:00??”

“Yes, we’re so sorry. But we could prepare a plate of Oysters Rockefeller for you instead. They’re great!”

“Are they fresh?” I inquire.

“Oh yes!”

“Well, when were they prepared if you’re all out of oysters?”

There was an awkward, uncomfortable, pregnant pause while that question soaked in. Sheepishly, the server admitted they had been prepared a couple days earlier.

“No thank you.”

Hastily scribbled with a Lamy Medium nib in Parkville, Missouri.


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