Salad Bar Dating

                                                                                                                                Bonnie Sanders

3639 Malibu Vista Drive

Malibu, California 90265

1605 Words

SALAD BAR DATING

Fern glances up from a newspaper toward her daughter, hoping to make eye contact, but Dana is enrapt in ‘whatever’ on her iPad, so Fern rattles the paper loud.  The weeist of smiles from Dana.  She knows her mother.

“What, Mom?”

“An interesting dating idea.”

Dana groans. “C’mon, Mom.  You know I have tried them all.”

“But not salad bar dating.”

Dana guffaws. “No, that one I have not tried. Do I dress as a radish or an eggplant?”

“My daughter, such a comedian. 

Dana rolls her eyes. “But of course, a Fern would have a kinship with vegetables, but you’d better think carefully about your grandchildren, Parsnip and Rutabaga. 

“At least you’re talking grandchildren”, chides Fern as she tosses the open paper over Dana’s computer. Leaving the room, she peeks back and sees Dana eyeing the ad and her grimace melting into a grin.  She knows her daughter. She is about to plunge into the world of salad dating.   

A few nights later, Dana, wearing a long pondered over green floral blouse and pants that accentuate her perfect curves, enters Greens Galore Restaurant. It is closed tonight to its usual family clientele.  The first thing she sees is a salad bar big enough to part the red sea.    

A blond hunk host in suit and tie with a radish flower/parsley boutonnière (maybe a bit much)  leads her to an area right of the salad bar, where a female forest of other attendees are gathered.  she certainly wasn’t original.   Green garb is in. 

It’s a mixed group of youngish, oldish and in-betweeniths, but in seconds Dana is welcomed into the group of instantaneous comrades who have only one thing in common… The silliness of deciding to be here.   

They laugh over their green clothing choices, comment on the host’s boutonnière and discuss other kinds of dating they have tried, so ‘why not’ is the consensus. 

And of course, an alluring co-hostess has been seating the guys on the other side of the salad bar. Nary a green shirt can she see. Just guys man-talking, while occasionally stealing glances across the salad bar at the gals.   

Dana decides maybe this evening won’t be a bust. It can’t hurt to have fun.  She loves her demanding career as a molecular biology researcher, but there are times – yes times when she thinks about trading the science lab for a golden lab in a yard with a house in the suburbs where she would live with a perfect husband and a couple of perfect kids.

Her reverie is interrupted when pop music starts to play, followed by a large heart-shaped neon sign dropping from the ceiling.  In the middle, the words “ Greens Galore”  and  MORE.  

Hostess and Host stand under the sign to explain how the evening will proceed.   

Hostess: I’m Julia.

Host: And I’m Paul. 

Together: Are the 30 of you ready to meet your salad match? 

Tepid applause.

Julia: Come on guys – a little more enthusiasm. We’re talking fun!

The guys hoot and holler. 

Paul: Come on gals.

 As if the women have ESP, they wolf whistle as one. 

Julia and Paul: Best group ever.   

They applaud the crowd. 

Julia: Here’s how this works, and sorry guys, you have to do most of the heavy lifting. At the salad bar, you’ll find extra-large plates. All you need to do is fill them up with your favorites; and we’re proud to say our salad bar is hands down the best in the north, south, east, and west.  

Paul: Garbanzos, gorgonzola, cottage cheese, king crab legs, caviar, shrimp, and steak are just a few of our over 50 items.   When your creation is complete,  you’ll be led by Heidi or Jeremy to our real bar. He points them out on either side of the salad bar.     

Julia: They will take your plates, and assign a number to each. That number will be the same as the one on the table where you will be seated by Paul or me.  

Paul: While the guys are busy designing their gustatory delights, you gals will take one of these –

Julia holds up a salad bowl, then plucks a folded piece of green paper shaped like a lettuce leaf out with tongs.   

Paul: This number will determine the order in which you will choose your salad match.  

Paul: Once every guy has made his salad and received a number and a table,  you gals go to check out the salads on the bar in the order of your numbers.  

Julia: Oh, Just one more thing. Since we have been having our Salad Bar Dating nights our percentage of solid salad matches is cusping at 30%. One of our couples recently became engaged. 

Together: And that’s it. Except, Happy Matching…

The 15 guys, eyeing the gals, meander/dash or saunter to the salad bar and start filling up their plates. 

The 15 women gather around the salad bowl; their number fate in the balance. As the leaves are chosen, the women compare their numbers; some practically ecstatic, some disappointed, knowing the higher numbers will get the salad dregs. As Dana tries to nab her paper lettuce leaf with the tongs she thinks, what the heck.  Who knows, it’ll be a new experience with wine maybe crab – she loved crab, maybe the perfect salad; maybe the perfect guy. And for $75, could be a bargain.

Finally, all 15 guys have been seated. Julia and Paul line the gals up in order and start sending them five at a time to decide their salad date fate.

When it’s Dana’s turn she sees that a couple of plates with crab are still left, but only one has red onion curls circled all around the edge of the plate, with a few adding color to the middle.   She probably loves onions almost as much as crab. She can eat them like apples and adds them to every sandwich, salad, and cooked recipe, whether they are called for or not.  She picks up her treasure plate, hoping that the guy who created this might be the one. 

As she searches for the table with the matching number, she also checks out the guys still sitting solo.  A few look okay, but one is actually her type.  Skin, golden tan. Hair dark and wavy. Rugged interesting features.  I hope, I hope. She nears his table, glances at the number, and, YES! It’s a match. They share smiles. He has the whitest teeth. 

He scrambles up and pulls out her chair. And a gentleman, she thinks as she sits.

Within nanoseconds of them both being seated, there’s Paul holding a tray with two bottles of wine and two beers.

Dana says, “Gees, Paul, do you have fly eyes?”

Paul looks at her not understanding. 

Dana replies, “Sorry, from one of my biology courses. I mean because you got here so quick. Flies have compound eyes which means they have between 3,000 and 6,000 simple eyes. Their vision is better than panoramic. 

Paul seems kind of impressed, but Mr. Her Type, doesn’t appear to acknowledge that she might have a brain.  Oh well. Barely a strike for that. He’s still scoring high.  

“Okay, I’ll leave you guys,” says Paul as he leaves. 

Dana extends her hand to Mr. Her Type. I’m Dana. 

He takes her hand. I’m Kai. 

“Love that name,” says Dana. 

“Hawaiian” he replies. 

Silence. 

So he’s the strong silent type, Dana thinks. But she’s wrong. For the next seemingly endless couple of minutes, Kai goes on and on talking about first his surfing exploits followed by his rattling on about his very successful property management business.

Well at least he has money, surmises Dana, as Kai continues pushing his ego toward the limit... 

“We’re talking big here, like over six figures.”

Dana takes a sip of wine and sighs.  It seems as if there is just him and him at the table. “Well, I can’t wait to try that salad. The red onions were the big deal maker.” No comment.

She begins to load up her salad plate, taking a more than fair share helping of crab.  Well, who cares about fair. Kai is so full of himself he probably doesn’t have any room left for salad anyway. But she’s wrong again. He scrapes the last olive onto his plate and thankfully, wordlessly, begins to eat. 

Dana had already given Kai an F as a potential date, but when after each bite of salad, he pulled dental floss out from a silver case and yes, flossed, she amended that grade to an F minus. At least it explained the perfect teeth.   

Dana can’t wait to tell her mother all about salad bar dating when she feels something slimy and wet on her legs. She jumps up and looks down.  Her new sandals and new white pants are dotted with UGH, garbanzo beans, and even UGHGHER beets, two of her detestables.  

She reaches back for a napkin, bends over, and starts to wipe off the gunk.

“I am so sorry. I’m so sorry,” comes the voice from the next table. He gets out of his chair and slides to the floor on his knees.   I really am sorry. So clumsy, so clumsy.  “Here let me help you.”

“Don’t bother,” Dana responds angrily, continuing to wipe. 

She looks down at his cropped blond hair and his shoes covered with every salad bar add-on she hates and almost laughs out loud.

But then, still on his knees, positioned oddly almost as if he was going to propose, he looks up.  Dana’s and his blue eyes lock onto each other. And THE EARTH MOVES.