Each Tuesday night, Micah and I are fortunate to have babysitting and be able to go out on a date. Usually, we head to Dartmouth for an evening flick at matinee price and dinner. There are lots of restaurants in that town to choose from but Smokey Bones, an old favorite, moved out. Last week, we were in Taunton and decided to visit the Smokey Bones there. (Smokey Bones is a chain restaurant; it shares ownership with the Olive Garden and Red Lobster.) It had been awhile and we were looking forward to having some good barbeque. While the menu was what we expected, however, the quality of food had gone down a smidgen and the atmosphere was absolutely rank with depravity and stupidity.
Apparently, if you like barbeque, you must be White. Nevermind it was invented by Africans. Whatever. Because nowhere, in any ad, was there a Black person. Just White people, which one may not notice at first, whites being the majority of the population, but I did — probably because there was so much skin. All the people in the ads were at least half naked. By the hostess stand was a life-sized cutout of a UFC wrestler in his (lack of) uniform. I remarked to Micah, “Is this the meat they are selling?” in jest. Little did I know. A few moments later we noticed that the staff were wearing t-shirts with innuendos printed on them. One server donned the phrase, “A dry rub makes meat better. No laughing.”
Also, if you like barbeque, you must be a redneck. No, I am not being facetious. Facing us was a TV showing “Having a Beer with Mike, ” a series of crude vignettes with absolutely no connection to one another. The least dirty vignette was called, “You Might be a Redneck Artist if,” featuring an artist, with bbq sauce as his medium, painting a stag onto a tablecloth.
Micah and I had had just about enough of blonde babes in leather, male exotic dancers and models slipping on the runway when the channel changed. Next up, “1, 000 ways to die,” in which, yes, you get to see reenactments of deaths, occurring mostly during intercourse which always involves a toned and busty woman in lingerie. The seven-year old girl and eleven-year-old boy in the booth across from us were especially enthralled by the sex scenes. I never thought I’d miss “Having a Beer with Mike.”
My experience at Smokey Bones was so offensive and alienating, I decided to boycott it and the Olive Garden (I don’t like lobster anyway), which probably targets white yuppies. Also, everything there is covered in cheese while real Italian is hardly ever. Who are they kidding?