"B.T.D."
"Bakersfield Transaction Disorder"
It a local affliction which renders people incapable of completing simple transactions. I've written about it extensively, although I only just named it.
Usually it involves a cashier of some sort, but you will be unsurprised to learn it also applies to salad bars.
What is wrong with these people?
We decided to go out for a cheap dinner and the boyfriend was craving salad bar. It would be our first attempt at one since we moved here.
And probably our last.
In the case of the salad bar, unlike the supermarket, it isn't a case of people being baffled as to what to do. It's picking up food and putting in on a plate - what could be simpler? No, with the salad bar it's a case of overwhelming indecision, each ingredient requiring the Judgment of Solomon. As a result, the people move with all the speed and grace of a three toed sloth. Wanna go for salad bar? Better carve out four hours of your day.
The man in front of me was completely torn - broccoli, or cauliflower?
Broccoli?
Or cauliflower?
b r o c c o l i . . . ?
c a u l i f l o w e r . . . ?
It was like watching "Sophie's Choice." I was ready to club him with my chilled plate. All I wanted was some fucking garbanzo beans.
Luckily, I doubt we'll put ourselves through that again. The salad bar looked like it had been stocked in June and left to rot for three months. That is the enduring enigma of Bakersfield. It's surrounded by millions of acres of fresh produce, yet everything you find in the market or restaurants looks like it's been left out on the back dock for a week. Or rescued from a dumpster. There are times when it feels like perhaps the healthiest choice may just be drive-thru.
