Happily sitting at a sports bar chain restaurant, which will go unnamed, but features wings, beer, and sports, I waited for my turn to order. Since I had never frequented this sports bar chain restaurant, I figured I would order some of the wings so prominently featured in the restaurant’s name.  When the waitress came around, I was all set with my order, or so I thought.  Then began a line of questioning that felt more like an interrogation.

Q: “What would you like?”  A:  “Chicken wings, please.”  Yes, I actually said, “please,” which should have gotten me off on the right foot.  Wrong.

Q: “What size order?”  A:  “Small.”  Okay, don’t judge me, I was trying to eat somewhat healthy.

Q: “What dipping sauce?”  A:  “Blue Cheese.”  At this point, wasn’t it obvious that I was a traditionalist, as far as wings are concerned?

Q: “What type of flavor for the wings?”  A:  “Medium.”  The menu described this as the “classic wing sauce.”  Alright, enough already.  Please, leave the table, but wait, one more question.

Q: “Dry rub?”  What?  No, I want a normal everyday chicken wings.  Stop with all of the questions!  Then my mind, numbed by the constant information gathering, blurted out something that made sense to me, but to the rest of the world sounded oh so wrong.  A:  “No, the wet rub.”

Again, what? The “wet rub?”  In some states, I would be arrested for requesting that of a stranger.  Look, all I wanted was a basket of wings, where my fingers would be covered in sauce, when I was finished.  I did not under any circumstances want a “dry rub.”  Although these terms are socially acceptable only between consenting adults in a committed relationship, why was I the guilty party here?  (Well, for one, you are a dope.  How about that?  Now, even my fingers are mocking me, as I type.)

To summarize, what have we learned from this experience? Two things.  First, ordering wings has become way too complicated.  Two, never utter the words “wet rub” and expect to be taken seriously.