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Courtesy.

Downtown Buffalo.

Earl, Jamie and I have been in Buffalo for a good part of the weekend. We were here to see the Buffalo Bandits take on the Philadelphia Wings in a lacrosse match at HSBC Arena. The cheering was divided last night as Earl was cheering on the Wings and Jamie was cheering on the Bandits. I would utter “go S U” from time to time because the orange clothing was confusing me. Buffalo lost and Earl ended up with a tub of popcorn turned upside down over his head. He found popcorn in his underwear this morning.

We stayed at the Embassy Suites in downtown Buffalo. Jamie stated that this is one of the nicest hotels in Buffalo. The suite was nice but the breakfast buffet was a little bit of an experience.

When there was food there were no plates, when there were plates there was no cutlery, when there was an omelette chef there was a line and when there was oatmeal and it was extra watery.

Oh, and there wasn’t a set of tongs to grab the bread to make toast. This sort of bugs me. Now, it’s not because I’m some sort of germophobe because that is hardly the case (though I have been known to douse people in Lysol if they seemed pukey to me), but I think that if one finds themselves in a buffet like environment without the appropriate utensils to grab food, you have two choices.

1. Ask for the appropriate utensils and use them when they arrive.

2. If you’re impatient (like me), grab a napkin and use that to grab the bread or the muffin or the fruit from the serving area. I don’t recommend this approach with salad items, soup or chili.

So there was a stack of bread in the little bread holder and this woman with really big hair in line in front of me. The smell of Aqua Net did not go unnoticed. Faced with the dilemma described above, she opted for her own approach.

With her bare hands, she grabbed a handful of bread slices, counted out how many she wanted, and then threw the rest back into the bread box.

Ewwww. Actually, I think I uttered a “Wow” that went relatively unnoticed. I don’t know where her hands as been but I certainly knew where they had just gone. I didn’t like that.

Not to be deterred, she jammed her pawed up bread onto the conveyor like toaster and watched it make it’s way through the little heater. I walked around her, grabbed a napkin and found some unpawed wheat bread (she predictably went for the white bread, noticed the snob in me) and loaded to pieces of wheat bread on the conveyor. Her toast plopped out the bottom of the machine at the same time and she heaved a sigh of disgust at the tanning of the bread so she put it through again and cranked the heat to high. I could see my wheat bread getting uncomfortably warm as it made it’s way through.

“I don’t think it’s charcoal season yet”, I said wryly, as I turned down the toaster to a reasonable level. I always have to interject a little humor before I fly into hysterics. Think of my humor as a warning shot across the bow. You can usually tell the difference between a true attempt of me being funny versus the use of humor to control my temper. She gave me an icy glare and blew some Aqua Net fumes at me.

My bread plopped out the bottom of the toaster a few moments later and I extended courtesy and cranked the heat back up.

“Bon appétit”, I shared with her, trying to be courteous.

The effort went unnoticed.