Chasing the Robot

Dearest Rachel –

So, last night we went out to that conveyor belt sushi place that’s not the Station – the one out by Woodfield – to belatedly celebrate Logan’s birthday. In a way, he’s become rather a part of the family, complete with me having to nag him about getting his finances in order so that he can pay me the rent he owes me. Okay, maybe not quite the same – I don’t do that sort of thing to Daniel, even at his age – but I know that I really shouldn’t treat him on a level equal to Daniel, after all.

You might remember that we went there once – I don’t know if it was a special occasion, or just a whim – and while we enjoyed the place, it wasn’t quite the same as what we were familiar with, and I think that turned us off to it. That they had beef sushi was a plus, to be sure (more options for Daniel, we thought at the time), and their method of dish disposal, complete with the contraption that displayed cutesy animations with every fifth dish (and dispensed a small gatchapon toy every fifteenth, which I think might be the real appeal for Logan, as he’s the one among the group that least likes sushi in general) made for a fun experience. But the portions were smaller, even as they were decidedly more expensive – both of which were big strikes in your book – and the frills, while entertaining, didn’t really make up for difference in either of our minds. Besides, the Station was less than half the distance from home as this place (although it’s still less than five miles away, I’d reckon); why go further, when we had a good thing as close at hand as we did?

Still, this was where Logan wanted to go, and had been petitioning for it since getting back from being with his family for his real birthday two weeks ago; it took that long to get the girls together with us. Things have come a long way since you could draw everyone together on a near-weekly basis; nowadays, if we can get together once every two weeks, I consider that a fortunate thing. I’m not sure how that happened; it’s not as if life has gotten that much busier for us. But with Ellen working so much farther from home, she’s rarely available before seven in the evening anymore. Erin continues to practice for the marathon, putting in miles of running at least every other day; and while she’s a natural at it, it still takes hours to cover the distances she’s putting in as the race day approaches, chewing up what little time (and energy) she has already.

And Kerstin? Well, after debating with herself for a little while, during to certain internal political issues at her workplace, decided to stay and take an offer to work a route out in Beloit – it turns out that they need Illinois drivers to work the route, as Illinois drivers can drive professionally in Wisconsin, but Wisconsin drivers aren’t allowed to drive in Illinois unless they have an Illinois bus license. So she drives out there every Sunday evening, and stays there until Friday evening. Meanwhile, the company has her put up in a hotel, and pays for her meals throughout the week (which she points out she would have had to provide for herself if she worked from home). She’s even got more hours and is paid better into the bargain. So after all the internal struggle with herself as to whether or not to do this, she feels that she was led to this, and is being blessed for making the right choice. It does mean, however, that she’s out of town throughout the week, but for now, that appears to be a small con to weigh against the pros.

But at this point, I’m telling other people’s stories, which I’ve no real right to do (if nothing else, by not having their perspective, I’m liable to get the details wrong). So I should probably get back to the evening. The funny thing is, I wasn’t sure about if this was worth writing to you about, but after one particular incident, someone – I’m not sure who, or if I am, whether I should name names – suggested I put it in my next letter to you. And so, here it is.

Although, before I do, I should mention at least one other misadventure of sorts experienced while we were there last night. It so happens that this place, like the shabu-shabu place a short walk away in the Woodfield parking lot, has robot servers (complete with the cute cat face that winks and blinks when you pet it) delivering drinks and whatnot. As we were getting settled in, we ordered a round of waters for the table, along with a couple of hot teas (the day was surprisingly chilly, for having been August not all that long ago) and a diet Coke for Logan. It’s a running joke, as you might recall.

In any event, as we’re settling in (and for once, I’ve decided to surrender my usual position by the belt in an ultimately futile attempt to avoid grabbing too much for myself), the robot arrives with our beverage order, and backs up to the table so we can retrieve our glasses. Ellen and I fetch the waters and the teas, but we must have jostled it in such a way that it assumed its job was finished… and proceeded to pull away, still carrying Logan’s diet Coke on its lower shelf. For a moment, I don’t even realize we haven’t got everything we ordered – because I still can’t fathom drinking a diet soda, even after all this time – until Logan (who’s sitting by the belt, and thus unable to get up expeditiously) speaks up about the fact that the robot is leaving without having delivered its full payload. It’s I can do to get up and chase after the speedy little thing before it escapes our aisle – passing more than a few other tables en route – and snatch the cup from its rear hatch. I’m sure it looked funnier to watch than it does to read about it, but I’m trying to spare my own dignity as much as possible, here.

Still, I wasn’t the only one to embarrass myself upon getting up from the table last night. As with most restaurants these days, it would seem, the place was pretty noisy; not exactly conducive for conversation. You’ve probably heard me lament about this fact when it comes to going out on dates, but as this wasn’t one, it shouldn’t have made a lot of difference. However, Kerstin made a comment about needing a hearing aid to follow one or another conversation, to which Erin (who had arrived late, and was seated on the outside of our side of the table) promptly got up, and looked at me in a way that I couldn’t place at first. Finally, several of us thought to ask her why she was standing there, and looking at me with what might be described as ‘expectation,’ to which she queried as to whether I would allow Kerstin to get up to go to the bathroom. It would seem she mistook the words ‘hearing aid’ for ‘urinate’ – which, upon sounding them both out, isn’t as much of a stretch as you might think – thereby both disproving (because it wasn’t so much Kerstin as the place we were in) and proving (except that Kerstin wasn’t the one in need of audio augmentation) Kerstin’s point.

That little kerfuffle sorted, however, it was a relatively straightforward evening. I think we all had a good time – and I’ve done my requested duty by reporting on the misadventures. Ellen dropped by afterwards to get rid of her recyclables and sift through a few of the cache of photos I’m still trying to sort through – turns out, her vaunted memory is due to all those letters she started writing back home once she moved up here, so dates and times from when she was still with you are just as fuzzy as if I had been the one there, trying to remember now. I guess that’s just one more reason to keep up with these letters to you, for my own (and maybe other people’s) sake.

So with that in mind, honey, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.