I am by no means a vegetarian. I
try to eat more vegetables, but fail
often. This week I had an experience that will likely turn me into a
card carrying, red paint splashing, "Karl Lagerfeld is a murderer"
shouting member of PETA.

I was in Charlotte, NC this week for work. I was there to test some
demonstrations from two different vendors who are vying for a huge contract with
The Company. Each night, the vendors took the project team and testers to
dinner to wine and dine us.

First a word about wining and dining. When it comes to food, my tastes are
not very fancy pants. I'm sort of a basic guy. I don't drink
wine. I don't know anything about sauces or cuts of meat or anything
pronounced French. I like soup. I like chicken. I like iced
tea. In short, I'm a cheap date.

Our dinner was at Morton's.
We have a Morton's here in Phoenix. It's by the Ritz Carlton, which tells
me it's very fancy pants. I've walked past it many times on my way
to the movies. It looks very dark and mysterious and I don't recall seeing
anyone actually enter or exit the restaurant.

Entering the restaurant I realize Morton's is a steakhouse. I don't think
I've set foot in a steak house since I lived in Oklahoma and even then it was
just The Sizzler. If you live in Oklahoma, it is mandatory you go
to La Sizzler. Especially after church.

There is a big to-do and presentation over the wine selection. Bottles are
displayed, glasses are swished. Then they haul out this big ass cart to
tell you tonight's menu. The guy first picks up a live lobster whom I immediately
feel sorry for. I feel like he's looking at us frantically and secretly
hope he frees himself from his little claw cuffs and starts pinching the hell
out of everyone. Thankfully no one orders Pinchy for dinner but 90% of my
party orders steak.

When dinner comes, I am hit by the smell of rare to medium rare huge Fred
Flintstone portions of meat. My stomach cramps from the smell alone.
Sopping red juice is all over their plates. I am so nauseated. My
co-workers look savage and wide eyed as they pick up their giant steak machetes
and start hacking away at there dinners. They are stuffing huge chucks of
brown on the outside, pink on the inside meat in the mouths, savoring every
morsel/ Moans of beef induced orgasmic delight are heard as I quietly eat
my dinner. I hide my disgust by saying comments like "Wow.
That's huge!" instead of "Oh my god! You are so sick for
ordering that! What are you? A cannibal!?". (Not a good
move at a work dinner.)

I am desperately trying to find "my happy place". I think about
Alias and wonder if Evil Francie will kill Will and how much I'd rather she kill
Vaughn. I think about my cat and wonder if he is looking through the patio
door right now waiting for me to come home. I think about my hotel room
and how much it sucks the TV doesn't have The WB and that I am going to miss
Angel this week.

Once the main course is over, I watch the servers take the food away and try to
forget about the carnage I just witnessed. I am relieved when the plates
are gone.

Once I get back to my room in the hotel, I swear I smell like dead cow.
It's like when you go to a bar and end up smelling like an ashtray. I take
a shower and give myself a Silkwood scrubdown to rid myself of the evening.