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Number nine? Number nine?

June 9, 2012

Beach House, Saturday evening, Ventura Pier
The Beach House. Tacos, great coffee, and more

I eat at the Beach House a lot. If you come to visit Ventura, there’s a good chance I will take you there. We’ll sit on the pier, outdoors, eat tasty tacos with zippy avocado-tomatillo salsa and watch the waves. Life will be good.

I went there on Thursday night with my friend Nancy. Then today, on my way home from an afternoon class at church, I stopped in again.

I got my glass of wine (did I mention they have beer and wine?) and waited for my grilled pasilla pepper to be done.

“Number 29,” the girl called.

A minute later, she called again “Number 29.”

I sat there, sipping my chardonnay in a plastic cup and musing – seriously, I was musing – on the fact that every time I go to the Beach House, there is some stoned goofball who forgets to pick up his or her order.


I checked my ticket again. My number was 55. Clearly, I had some waiting to do. Why didn’t this loser pick up his taco?

The girl came out from behind the counter and tossed a plate down in front of me. My order.

“Uh, I was calling for a few minutes,” she said.

“But…but my number is 55,” I said.

She smiled weakly and gave me a tiny “Yeah, right, stupid lady” sort of eye-roll.

I munched on my pepper and tortillas and wondered how the hell the order taker had gotten my order number so wrong. It’s hard to get good help these days, I thought.

Then I realized. I jammed my hand in my back pocket and found the little slip with 55 printed on it. And I checked my front pocket and found the slip that said 29.

I was wearing the same jeans that I had worn when I went there Thursday night, jeans that I didn’t bother to wash. I grabbed the two slips of paper and went up to the counter.

“See, see, I’m not crazy, I just came here the other night and got 55 and now I have 29, that explains everything, thank God I thought I was losing my mind,” I babbled.

I have a feeling she still thinks I’m crazy.

Beach House Chardonnay

  1. June 10, 2012 03:17


    • June 10, 2012 08:02

      Hang on! It will be out in ONE minute.

  2. June 10, 2012 07:26

    My position is, if they know whose food it is, they should just bring it to you, instead of making people hover around the counter, perking up hopefully every time a plate comes out of the kitchen.

    I was in a hamburger place that asked for your name instead of giving a number. Several of us were waiting for our orders when the counter person called, “Midge, your order is ready.” No response. “Midge, your order is ready.” No response. Counter girl pointedly looks at me, “Midge, your order is ready!” As I retrieved my burger I tried to (loudly) explain that my name is not Midge, but everyone was smirking at me, no doubt thinking, “of course she’s too old and deaf to hear her order being called out, her name is Midge!” I’m just glad I’d gotten it to-go.

    • June 10, 2012 08:02

      Bring you the food? That would be entirely too civilized, Midge.

  3. June 11, 2012 16:54

    Waitress punks!

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