And Then My Poor Meatball, Rolled Right Out the Door

Joelle said around lunch time on August 26, 2007

Last night, a bunch of us met up with our good friend Bitca in Santa Monica for dinner and drinks.  We met up at the 3rd Street Promenade at 7pm and then our gang of ne’er-do-wells wandered down a few blocks to Buca di Beppo for family-style Italian food.  If you’ve not been there before, the small portion is enough to serve 2-3 people.  It’s enormous.  Keith‘s girlfriend got a side of spaghetti marinara that was like… at least a half-pound of pasta. Seriously.

Generally, everyone just gets different things and everyone shares, but I’m watching what I eat so I tell the waiter that I would just like to order a meatball. I was going to get a side salad, too, but I figured it would be the size of a Cadillac, so I stuck with something managable: one meatball.  I knew their meatballs were easily meal-sized and I am trying to avoid pastas.  Just a personal choice.  So, the waiter says, “Ok, one meatball” and writes it down, endorsing it enthusiastically… telling me I wouldn’t be disappointed. Great. Bring it on.

So, he’s getting the rest of the orders and he interrupts my conversation, pointing to the single-serving spaghetti and meatball dinner on the menu.  “Since you not so hungry, we get you this, okay?” he said.  I nodded, assuming he was bringing me a slightly smaller meatball, something more lady-like or whatever.  Fine, fine.

The food starts to arrive… giant bruscettas as big as a steering wheel, lasagna the size of a cinderblock, some baked ravioli, Bitca got some crazy pork thing with blueberries and hazelnuts, there was a pizza, but lo!  Where was my meatball?

The waiter comes zooming up to the table with this plate piled high with pasta and one big meatball at the top.  I said, “I didn’t order the pasta dinner.” and he says, “Yes, you did.” and I said, “No, I asked for a meatball and you told me that you were going to give me this other order. I thought you knew something I didn’t.”

He then takes my plate, rolls the meatball onto another empty plate right in front of me and says, “You can move it to a new plate if you want it separate!” and I said, “Look, I just want the meatball.” So he takes the pasta away and says, “OK, no problem. It’s the same price.”

I said, “No, I’m sorry. No. A meatball is $4.99.  A pasta dinner is $9.99. That is not the same price. I’m sorry, but I’m not paying for pasta I didn’t ask for.” He took it off the bill, but seriously, what is so hard about “I just want a meatball.” when there’s a table of ten more people ordering $200 worth of food?

Just give a girl her meatball.  Jeez.