So, a few months ago I was wandering the historic Gaslamp Quarter in San Diego in the light of the late summer evening (taking pictures of course).  That area, along with being full of older architecture, is also home to dozens and dozens of restaurants.  My wife and I, just having finished our own dinner, were walking around the area, enjoying the evening.

All of the restaurants have 20-something young women as hostess out front to flash a smile, ask if you are hungry, and just generally lure people into the place.  I had just explained for the 18th time that we had already eaten and was preparing my response for the next one we passed by when, from the other direction, a man approached the hostess.  He was dressed as what could be referred as a “tool”.  You know, the shirt with all the “who-ha” squiggly stuff all over them, unbuttoned just-so, the $350 jeans that are tattered in just the right places (or, the wrong places depending on your point of view), the flip-flops, and of course a fancy watch on his wrist and a gold chain around his neck.

He walks up to the girl at the podium and says, “Do you know where the Nazi Food Bar is?”   My wife and I nearly gasped out loud and stopped in our tracks.  The hostess must have heard the same thing because at this point we were close enough to see the incredulous  smile take over her face, and with a tone of slight disgust she said, “I’m sorry, what bar are you looking for…?”

He repeated, “The Nazi Food Bar,” then realized he was not getting through, and rephrased his question, “Y’know, the bar that doesn’t serve seafood.”

Slight awkward pause…

“Ohhhh, the NOT-seafood bar”, she said, her smile changing from confusion to amusement.  He nodded with a blank expression in a way that said – “Duh!  That’s what I said!”  She gently nodded and said, “Well, there are a few…” as she pointed down the street to her right.  She went on as we passed by, quietly laughing to ourselves and having a new appreciation for the English language…