Winning and Losing in Mordor

I spent the weekend at a medical conference in Washington D.C., which I lovingly refer to as Mordor. Flying out of DCA this morning, I stopped at a burger place near my gate to get lunch before boarding my flight. As I walked up, the short Middle-Eastern-appearing man behind the counter told me, in heavily accented English, “The Barbeque Bacon Burger really hit spot. Thick slabs bacon.” Appreciating his obvious concern for my anorexic appearance, I said sure, why not. As I’m leaning over to get a drink from the fridge next to the cash register, he says, “Our Elevation Chicken Sandwich has organic chicken!”

Wondering why he’s telling me about other options after I’ve already ordered, I look up from the fridge. He’s looking past me, to a slender 60ish-year-old woman with her gray hair pulled back into a ponytail. She’s wearing a Native American-styled narrow headband, and a blue surgical mask. Her blue eyes light up, and she says, “Really!?!” Really. I’m not making this up.

I look back at him and say, “The mask is cheating.”

He smiles and says, “I don’t need mask. I read people. I read you, right?”

Me: “I don’t appreciate being profiled.”

Burger Guy: “But I was right, right?”

I look to my right, and there’s an overweight Black man, waiting for his order. I’m just about to ask him what he ordered when the cook in the back hollers, “Barbeque Bacon Burger!”

I grimace and say, “He got you too, huh?” The Black guy smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

His wife piped up, “You ain’t sellin’ no brotha’ no organic chicken.”

I turned to see what Mask Lady thought of this, but she wasn’t there. She had wandered off. Perhaps to ponder the energy of some crystals, or to encourage some Arabs to murder some Jews. Or whatever.

So I turn back to my Middle Eastern friend behind the counter. He’s wearing a self-satisfied smirk. I lean over to the Black gentleman to my right and whisper, “I’ll pay you $20 to change your order.”

Burger Guy heard me, smiled, and said, “Your $20 says I’m always right. 80 percent. You stay here for an hour. I be right 80 percent. You pay me $20.” Big smile.

I’m not sure what to do. I look around. I see a 40ish-year-old white guy with a laptop bag over his shoulder, walking up the concourse. I stop him, and say, “Hi! Um, how are you? So, look. Ahhh, we’re running a survey here at, um, Elevation Burger and I wonder if you could help us out…”

The Burger Guy calls out from behind me, “Our Elevation Chicken Sandwich has organic chicken!”

I’m still looking back over my shoulder at Burger Guy, and I hear Laptop Guy behind me, “Really? Cool!”

Me: “F-word!!!”

Burger Guy: “Ha!”

Laptop Guy: “What?”

Me: “How did you…”

Burger Guy: “Designer eyeglasses.”

I turn to look at an increasingly confused, and now vaguely concerned, Laptop Guy. He was wearing fancy eyeglasses, with elaborate frames, and I hadn’t noticed. But they didn’t seem important. To me, at least. I guess.

The Black guy to my right laughed and said, “Dude’s about to lose $20!”

Laptop Guy, feeling uncomfortable, tries to regain control of the situation by asking me, “Have you tried the organic chicken?”

The cook yells out from the back, “Barbeque Bacon Burger!”

Me: “F-word!”

Burger Guy: “Ha!”

Laptop Guy: “What?”

I look back at the Laptop Guy. I shake my head and say, “Hey, I’m really sorry. I was just settling a bet with my friend behind the counter. Sorry about all that.”

Laptop Guy smiled nervously and said, “So I’m not getting a chicken sandwich?”

I said, “Absolutely you are. It’s organic chicken. On me.”

I toss The Burger Guy a twenty and say, “You, my friend, are a very dangerous man.”

The Burger Guy laughed and said, “I read people.”

I looked at the Black Guy to my right. We both shook our heads and wandered off together, with our Barbeque Bacon Burgers. We were both a bit offended. But on the other hand, we were thankful that we didn’t have to eat organic chicken.

You win some, you lose some.

I spoke to the Black guy’s wife for a while as we walked down the concourse to our gates. She said she never bought organic chicken because it was so much more expensive, and tasted the same. I said that I felt the same way. She went on at some length about the price of groceries.

I asked her how she thought the Burger Guy figured me out – what was I wearing that tipped him off. She said, “It wasn’t your clothes. It was your belly.” Her husband found this hysterical. I pretended to be offended. But she was probably right.

But that’s ok. The Barbeque Bacon Burger was delicious.

You win some, you lose some.