Buffets and Tiny Forks and Skid Row

Just because you can find the best buffet line doesn't mean you can operate it. I learned this at the Health Information Technology conference last week. I was inordinately pleased with myself for spying a little annex buffet nestled behind the interoperability booth. No one was over there. Meanwhile, the main buffet suffered a line out the door. 

I took a plate and attacked the olives. Slippery little suckers. It was hard to hold a plate, a napkin and brandish a tiny fork like a spear. I became deeply involved in the attempt to capture a medley of olives. A time check boomed over the PA system and everyone started to filter back into the session room for the next speaker. Obviously I couldn't be bothered. I would not let the olives win. 

Finally. I pinioned 4-6 olives and grinned like I'd caught lightning in a bottle. I tossed a couple of pita chips next to the olives and grabbed an attractive blue bottle of fizzy water on my way into the session which had already started. The room was packed. Earlier, I'd seen a guy who was late get himself a seat in the back row by simply pulling back one of the chairs instead of crawling over everybody. I decided I could be just as debonair.

Except when I pulled back the chair all those scheming slithery olives rolled right off my plate and bounced across the carpet amidst a topple of pita chips.

Although he kept his eyes locked on the speaker behind the podium, the gentleman on my left nudged his chair away from my insta-mess. I could tell he was thinking that the back row used to be a very respectable part of the seating area and I'd turned it squalid in a nanosecond. He pretended not to notice when I began to kick pita chips under various nearby chairs with my shoe.

Meanwhile, the lovely woman on my right smiled kindly and patted my hand. I felt like I'd just joined a support group. Maybe I should try to get VC for an app to track suboptimal buffet outcomes.