If you’ve ever made lasagne, you know how long and arduous the process is. The bolognese has to be made, and then the bechamel. To add to that, she handmade her pasta. It’s so good, it’s a secret recipe, and I have never tasted any lasagne like that since. Pasta was only one part of the meal, and she made three courses. A full roast with two types of meat and different vegetables, a dessert, and some crostoli for tea afterwards. There was homemade wine from my uncles home vineyard, and some home-grown and pickled artichokes. Just beautiful, carefully crafted food.
In 2018 I spent a couple of months on crutches, my foot encased in a solid plastic boot for support. On my way back from my physio appointments, I liked to stop at a coffee shop or McDonalds to get something to eat. As you can imagine, being on crutches meant I needed a bit more assistance from staff. Most of them understood this, but not this one lady at the coffee shop.
The various types of sandwich were kept in a customer-facing fridge. You picked it out, and if it was one that needed heating up you handed it over to the person taking your order. There wasn’t enough spare material in the packaging for me to hold it between my fingers and the crutch handle, so I told the woman on the tills which one I wanted, but “sorry, I can’t carry it over here”. She refused to go and fetch it, or ask a staff member nearby to do so. Eventually another customer intervened and passed it to her.
“Stop being lazy and carry your own drink to the table.” Yeah, that’s a brilliant thing to say with your manager in hearing range. The manager that’s now witnessed you refuse two reasonable accommodations to assist a (temporarily) disabled person. The manager that was already pulling the seat out at my usual table so I didn’t have to. She was already gone by the time I finished my drink and toastie, and the free piece of cake I got for dealing with her. She stormed out in a massive huff a few minutes after being told to go to the office.
My “sister” was upset because I got to a particular dish before she did and had the nerve to ask her to hand me a serving spoon to serve myself even though I was on crutches at the time. She fumed all of the way to the table. Erupting after I announced my intention to go to college starting in February. Then I put my baby, who’d finished eating, down in one of those rocking spinning toys. That’s when she exploded. Everything I did was wrong according to her and I shouldn’t be doing xyz (none of which I was doing), yelling all of it.
My grandmother served up m (ex)boyfriend’s lasagne first. He looked down at the lasagne with disgust, and said he had eaten before he got there. He didn’t even try it. It was so awkward, being surrounded by family, all eating pleasantly, and him just sitting there not eating a bite. From my grandmother’s house we went to a mates house, where his sickness suddenly disappeared. He would pull a similar stunt on my mom’s birthday, where he pitched up to the French restaurant, but never came inside. Once again, he was too sick. Not too sick to play PS4 with his friends, though.