A few days after crying that I wasn't able to go to Waffle House when I really craved it, my boyfriend's family wanted to visit and go to Hometown Buffet. I can recollect a fundraiser that I participated in with my sixth grade class. Whoever sold the most items were taken out of school, got to ride in a limo, and were treated to a lunch at Hometown Buffet. When I was 12, this restaurant sounded magical, a sophisticated award for the economically strong. I now have a better understanding of what Hometown has to offer, and was almost desperate for some sub-par, bottomless food to replace my waffle craving. I also appreciate that Hometown has unlimited chocolate milk refills.
Next Scene: The Restaurant, Saturday Afternoon: I was picking at some Asian-styled chicken on my plate when my boyfriend looks at me with an alarmed yet assertive expression and says "Put your fork to my nose." I looked at him, bewildered, and he insisted "Let me smell your fork". I raised up the utensil, chicken still in-tact, "Without the chicken", demands he. Completely unsettled, I scraped the chicken off on my plate and again raised the fork to his nose. He sniffed, and declared that his fork smelled like wet dog, it was abnormal, and he would be getting a replacement. The table all took turns smelling his fork, and came to the consensus that it did, indeed smell like wet dog.
In my head, I fancied the idea of there being a back room to the buffet, that is kept secret. In this room, there was a group of fuzzy, playful dogs in need of washing. After the employees would give the dogs their baths, they felt it right to brush them. With a lack of dog brushes, the employees decided to use forks instead.
I later stood up to get another plate, and walked to the center area to grab a fork. I picked up the fork, and in the middle of everyone, smelled it thoroughly. When my eyes met with those around, I had only then realized what I had done and scuffled back to my seat in shame. I was the buffet fork sniffer.