Is it turkey yet?

I want to check out a local restaurant for a possible group event. I went last night with my son and after perusing the menu I decide on a turkey sandwich on rye. I am particular about turkey, as I only like white meat, and only freshly roasted and freshly carved slices. I hate that slimy film that cold cuts get after a day in the refrigerator. I am also particular about my rye bread, as I like a coarse grain bread. I can’t stand rye bread that is really just mushy white bread with a few rye seeds tossed in the dough.

The menu listed freshly roasted beef or roasted turkey breast sandwiches, so when the server arrives to take our order, I request the roasted turkey on rye. Pretty simple, no special order, no add this, without that. Just an easy order.

The server brings the order, sets it down quickly and is off to more customers. I look at my sandwich, and it is very clearly not turkey. It is roast beef. The meat is dark like beef, not light like turkey. I have to wait a bit for the server to circle back, so in the meantime, I pinch off a corner of the bread to confirm my suspicion that it is, in fact, “the mushy white bread with a few few rye seeds tossed in”. I decide that when I ask for my order to be fixed, I will change the bread to well-done sourdough toast.

This is the bizarre part. I get the server’s attention and say, very nicely, and even apologetically, “sorry, mine was supposed to be turkey”. She answers back that IT IS turkey. I have rotated the plate so she can see the inside edges of the cut sandwich, and she still insists it is turkey, that this is what their turkey looks like. I am seriously stunned, trying to make her adamant comment square with my perception of reality. I ask, “well is this dark meat?”   No, she says, then offers that maybe it’s their au jus.  I am in a stupor, sputtering, speechless, finally turning my plate even more toward her and ask again, “this is turkey?”. This time she actually looks and says, “oh, yeah, that’s roast beef.”  Seriously??

So she of course offers to correct the sandwich, and I offer to pay for the roast beef sandwich and take it to go for my husband at home.  I have to ask to switch the rye bread for the sourdough toast though. This seemed to confuse her greatly, like I was trying to pull some kind of scam. I don’t see how since I was paying for both sandwiches, and I didn’t see any point in explaining that once I saw the kind of rye bread they used I no longer wanted it.  I would have eaten it had my original sandwich been the correct turkey but as long as they had to remake it I might as well get it the way I like it.

So the correct sandwich is served and it is delicious, the toast is even perfect. My son enjoys his sandwich, all is well. Then I decide to order a piece of peanut butter mousse pie to go. She brings the pie wrapped to go and I can see right away that it is not peanut butter mousse pie, so I have to tell her once again that she brought out the wrong thing. She again insists that this is their peanut butter mousse pie.  I tell her I know for a fact that it isn’t, and she finally agrees to go back to the kitchen, and what do you know? It was the wrong pie. I felt like I was dining in bizarro world.  What the hell?

My son told me the look on my face during these exchanges was classic, and reminded him of a line in movie “I feel like I’m taking crazy pills”. I’m so glad he was there as my witness, because my family always thinks these situations are of my own making, my fault for “special ordering”, or that I just exaggerate.