At Large

We all have them. The “go to” places we favor when cooking just doesn’t fit into our evening plans, and being able to grab a table, or a couple seats at the bar, means we’re in for a bit of light conversation, a choreographed glance at the menu, and, more often than not, the fallback order. (No apology needed if your “local” is the McDonalds’ drive-through in Canaan.) 

Comfortably seated, we listen, half-hearing, while the “specials” are rattled off, then we order and relax while the kitchen does their presumed magic. The theme song from Cheers seeps into a corner of our memory, and we start talking about the weather … or the lawn … or tomorrow’s imaginary schedule.

Until, we don’t.

Reality slams into us like a blast of cold air. It’s the night that “the local” is closed. Since we still have no interest in firing up the grill or doing “refrigerator review,” we pile into the dirty Subaru and decide which way to point the car, knowing that whatever place will be graced with our presence will be somewhere that we can’t recite the menu or likely know our server’s first name, marital prospects, and college major.

Quick Response

Luck holds, and we find a parking spot, humbly approach the host’s bunker, and discover that, in fact, there is a table that will accommodate our party. As we take our seats, we check to see places pre-set with cutlery, neatly folded napkins, requisite water glasses, and … a plastic stand displaying a printed square filled with squiggles, curls, and dots. 

Of course we know what it is. It’s a “QR Code.” “Quick Response.” They seem to be ubiquitous. When in the city, they glare back at us off bus sides. They’re emblazoned on the circulars that clog the mailbox each week. They flash on our TV screens with the pleasant suggestion – “Simply scan the QR code” – just as they disappear into the next droning plea to buy a car, or deodorant, or life insurance.

Since there are no menus on the table, the small print under the code informs us that this is the menu. It’s assumed that we will simply scan and scroll through the offerings before the server finds their way back to the table to invite our selections. If you’re of a certain age and sensibility, the only hope you have is that a) there’s someone in your party familiar with the dynamics of QR code reading or b) there’s a pre-teenager at the next table who will, at their parents’ insistence, assist in navigating this strange new world with minimal embarrassment. 

A quote that transcends

Some weeks ago, a quote appeared in the daily tsunami of online gibberish that invited not just a read, but a quick copy and investigation. Fortunately, there was an attribution with the quote, so we were able to track down the likely author. Deborah Martinson, PhD, teaches writing and rhetoric at Occidental College. She’s penned several books focused on women who have made significant impacts on society. The quote transcends gender and age and resonates through the restaurant as willing patrons struggle with their cell phones, trying to determine whether the pastrami reuben comes with fries or cole slaw.

“A society that forces a 90-year-old to use a smartphone in order to access basic rights is not a modern society; it is a society that has decided to cast aside its own elders.”

Understand, the unfamiliar terrain of a local restaurant is really quite a benign landscape. Medical appointments. Tax bills. Pharmacy refills. The implications there are much more critical and the potential impact much greater. One can always politely ask the server if there’s fish and chips on the menu tonight or if one can substitute a salad for fries … but not being able to connect with a primary physician (the phone call immediately goes to a pre-recorded message that assures us that “our options have recently changed”) or to order refills for type 2 diabetes medications takes on a bit more dramatic impact.

We blushingly admit that the title of this escapade is a play on words. August 15 is the Feast of the Assumption for the Roman Catholic Church. It also corresponds with the blessing of the harvest as summer fades into autumn and the crops are ready. It is, after all, a celebration of hope … which leads us to this additional clip from Dr. Martinson:

“When we leave behind those who came before us, we are not evolving. We are merely becoming more comfortable – and more selfish.”

We hope that we will make every effort not to leave anyone behind – technology triumphs, quick responses, or not.

And, yes. Apparently, you can substitute a salad for the fries. •