Wednesday was my boss' birthday, so yesterday our department took her out to Ristorante Abruzzo for lunch. It was surprisingly good food for a restaurant located in a strip mall! During the course of the meal, I was referred to as "dip" "whore" and "spaz". This perhaps warrants an explanation.
My boss is incredibly sarcastic which is matched beautifully with her wit (again, she doesn't know about this blog so I'm not kissing ass here). She's truly a pleasure to work with, and I consider a day without a trip to her office for some verbal abuse and reading tips a sad day indeed. I actually really miss her when she's off, she makes me laugh so hard.
In turn, I provide her with a thick skin to whack away at repeatedly.
We took separate cars to the restaurant, for even though it's only across the street, that street is Lake Cook Road which is, to say the least, NOT pedestrian friendly. Unless you cross the road at the train tracks 1/4 mile back, you're taking your life in your hands, and even then I believe the sidewalk on the south side of Lake Cook was put there merely for asthetic purposes. I arrived at the restaurant first, and just my carload sat down at our table, in comes my boss with the rest of her carload.
"Did'ja notice they put up a sign in front of Jewel as you passed? It reads "Dip In Road"."
Inspired by my brother-in-law's retort to Shannon's blogabuse, I retorted with "Well my response to you is THIS: 'oh, YEAH???' followed by sulking while eating my oven-fresh Italian bread! So THERE! You're SO lucky it's your birthday or I might have burst into tears and caused a scene, too!"
"You'd do that for me? I LOVE causing you pain! It's just what I always wanted!" She asked, wiping away a fake tear of her own.
As we were perusing the menu, my coworker pointed to one of the pasta items and asked me quietly, "Doesn't that sound like a dirty word?" I glanced over and, of course, she was pointing to one of the two items I was considering for lunch: spaghetti puttanesca. (I'm ALWAYS torn between two items on the menu until the very last second, no matter what the restaurant. We could be at a restaurant that only offers two items and I'd be torn between them, forcing everyone else do decide before making a decision of my own, then asking the waiter what THEY recommend, then feeling bad if I don't WANT what they recommend....) The other item on the menu I was considering was the risotto primavera which looked wonderful, but although I LOVE mushroom risotto, most other risottos are only okay.
Seeing M and I smiling at the menu, another, quiet, subdued coworker yelled "WHAT?!?!?" from across the table, forcing M repeated her query.
"Puttanesca means whore!" Lynn called out indignantly.
"Jo, you're ordering that, right?" my boss immediately asks.
"Um, actually, it looks really good! I mean, if I WERE a whore, WHICH I AM NOT, I think I'd work for that pasta in lieu of cash..."
I quietly ordered the puttanesca much to the delight of everyone, which prompted a very confused look from the waiter.
After we'd finished our lunches and the waiter returned with our wrapped leftovers, he announced, "Puttanesca?" as he handed mine to me. "Right here!" my boss replied, pointing to me.
Apparently I hadn't been called a name by everyone in the restaurant yesterday lunchtime, for "SPAS" was clearly written on the bag he handed me. I kept the bag as evidence.
Of course, the minute I returned to my office, I had to look it up. Sure enough, Spaghetti Puttanesca does indeed mean "whore's pasta."
I should have called Meepy before ordering. She'd have saved me from hearing "THERE's the spaghetti whore NOW!" every 5 minutes this morning.