Letting things go

One thing that I'm learning on my journey toward attempting to "be normal" is letting things go. It is not an easy thing to do. I need practice, but I think that I'm getting better. Here is what happened to me and my Dad yesterday...

He had been visiting me for a long weekend and we were going to have one last hurrah- a nice lunch at the Viceroy hotel. We walked in and waited a good 5 minutes before anyone even acknowledged us. Finally, a harried-looking waiter seated us at a lovely table by the window.

This waiter was a sweet boy, yet English was definitely not his strong suit. We had to repeat absolutely everything we said to him. Even when he heard us, there were pregnant pauses and long, uncertain stares at us before he wrote anything down on his tablet. Think: Manuel from Fawlty towers, only young and Viceroy-hot. When he rushed off, Dad and I looked at each other and just knew that we had better just lower our expectations, QUICKLY.

We waited an inordinate amount of time for our food while people around us got served. I was concerned that Dad would hit traffic on the way home, but eventually the food came. While the orders were correct technically (he got the steak sandwich and I got pizza)... the details were 100% wrong.

Dad's steak was not rare, but well-done...EXTREMELY.well.done. His fries were NOT well-done, but limp and pale. My flatbread pizza was completely swimming in oil, despite asking them not to put any oil on it at all. It was poured onto the plate first, then the pizza was place on top of it, allowing the oil to soak into the crust from below- my guess about 400 calories' worth, just as garnish. EEEkkkk.

Pizza Post Mortem: Two years ago I wouldn't have touched this with a ten-foot pole.

A couple of years ago, here's what would have happened: Given the lateness of the hour, Dad would probably have eaten his food and I would have sent mine back, ate nothing and gone to Subway directly afterward. I would have been starving and grouchy and would have vowed never to return to the restaurant again.

Here's what actually happened: I ate my meal. I had two full small pieces (out of ?8) and a few nibbles of crust, and I ate all of the chicken and veggies and most of the goat cheese off the top of the rest of the pieces-even if there was oil touching it! In the end, I was completely satisfied physically, yet not stuffed. Yes, I had more calories than I had planned. But I was so grateful to be able to roll with the punches and not feel like a freak for sitting and watching someone else eat because the meal didn't match my dietary expectations.

We wavered back and forth about mentioning something to the manager and in the end we decided to say something. After all, I had been there several times before and really loved the place. And I wanted to be able to go back again. Keep in mind that we weren't angry- the purpose was to enlighten the manager when he would otherwise be in the dark about a situation that would affect our future business there.

The manager approached us and listened to us calmly recount the series of mistakes of the previous hour. We expected an apology and perhaps some thanks for bringing the situation to his attention. However, what happened shocked both of us... he totally comped our meal. We said that we were very happy to pay, but he wouldn't have any of it. With that, I promised to return and give them another chance.

With our bellies full, we went outside for a photo op. And despite the fact that I had more oil in one sitting than I usually do in a day or maybe two, I lived to tell the tale. And it felt good. Turns out I was so full the rest of the day that I only wanted a snack later on anyway, so I'm guessing that the calories balanced out in the end. This time, letting go paid off in more ways than one. I hope that I can remember that lesson for next time. Plus I got to spend the time with my DaddyO after a terrific weekend together. What could be better I ask you?

All's well that ends well...

Do you have trouble letting go when things don't go right?