My booth was near the kitchen, and I watched the waiters in white shirts, ties, black trousers and aprons adorned with gold-colored towels. They were busy at midday, punching in orders and carrying out bread and pasta.
It had been a few years since I ate at the older Olive Garden in Fargo, so I studied the two manageable menus offering appetizers, soups and salads, grilled sandwiches, pizza, classic dishes, chicken and seafood and filled pastas.
In its preoccupation with the banal, it reads like a Nice Pete/Raymond Carver collab -- in review of the basically unreviewable, it imbibes the spirit of the third-rate undergraduate student newspaper. But this is actually a grownup. Thanks to Andrewiseverywhere. PS- I now see I am late to the party.