Infestation

SOUR SOUR SOUR: Mary and I went to a restaurant that shall remain nameless last night for dinner. As usual, we made our way toward the bar. Well, the bar was full, so we decided to sit at one of the tables in the bar area. We walked over to a table in the corner, and then we see it ... a roach -- booking it across the table, dodging the silverwear and zig-zagging amongst the condensation left behind by other people's beverages. Mary and I look at each other (eyebrows raised, a la The Hills). Um. Not good.

But we gave the place the benefit of the doubt, because as we all know from my previous residence, just because you have frequent roach pop-ins does not mean you're not clean, damn it! I mean, how many roach traps can a girl set out? I digress. Anyway, we sat down at another table and ordered our drinks -- beer for me, water for Mary. That's when I see ANOTHER roach right beside Mary's head -- scaling the wall head-first like some sort of James Bond shit. I gasp and she gasps and almost jumps straight out of her chair.

The bartender, who had come over to deliver our beverages, asked us what was wrong and I said, "Small roach situation" and pointed to the wall where the roach had momentarily paused. She grabs a nearby newspaper, says "Is this yours?" and proceeds to swat the thing. "They just fumigated," she explained. This does not comfort me.

We'd pretty much decided we were not eating there, but by that point, I had my beer and was clearly not going to leave it unfinished. So we dragged a chair to the end of the bar and sat there until I did. Then we got the F out. It's sad. Lincolnton's restaurant offerings are severely limited, and I really liked that place -- the food, the bar, the trivia. However, my hatred of cockroaches outweighs all those.

SWEET: Today Becky and I return to Knoxville.