The last time I went out to eat, I had plenty of time to sit and think because I waited for over 50 minutes for my food to arrive. During that time, some bus-boys dropped by to refill my water. The server was nowhere to be found. Eventually, I received my order and wolfed it down as though they may come back any minute to announce that they’d delivered the food by mistake. “Ahem, I’m so sorry for the mistake but the richer, more attractive customers two tables down actually deserve their food first. I’ll drop off your food a few minutes before you’re ready to bolt out the door and grab fast food.”

My dinner partner and I quickly ran out of small talk during our wait, so my mind wandered into how other creatures might handle the situation. Would a bear or lion wait around for their meal to appear? No, they would march into the wilderness and take it. So, if I am so civilized and evolved, why do I have to sit around for nearly an hour for some overpriced in-vogue vegetarian crap? I suppose that is the downside to the end of the hunting and gathering era. Sure, we don’t have to expend all of that effort foraging or tracking, but we do have to sit and wait…and wait… and wait.

I take some small comfort in knowing we’re not the only ones in this position. After all, our pets must wait for us to come home and fill their food dishes. My annoyance stems from the wildly differing standards we hold for these lovable pets in comparison to the ones we hold for ourselves. Yes, the pets have to wait, but they don’t have to sit quietly and be polite while doing so. In fact, sometimes they don’t wait at all. I can’t be the only person who has arrived home to find the pets have torn open their food bag or rifled through the trash. But if I marched back to the kitchen and broke open a bag of breadsticks, oh no! Society as we know it would collapse.

I must sit quietly and tolerate the hunger. I must control the urge to grab the plate of food from the large serving platter that just passed overhead tempting me with savory smells. But my cats can tear the house apart, claw my face at 5 am, and eat my utility bills and no one bats an eye. As I watched table after table receiving their food, I decided this just isn’t right. We’re higher up on the food chain than cats and dogs. So we deserve the same forgiveness and understanding for our desperate deeds when hunger hits. I devised the plan illustrated above and I plan to put it into practice the next time my stomach and I are teased and tortured. I’ll post a follow-up to elaborate on the results.

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