The commercials for Hometown Buffet are enticing. They appeal to the ingrained American idea of hearty appetites, and you know that their promise of more, more, and more will be fulfilled. The ads also have an air of nostalgia to them that hark back to a simpler time, when you could stuff yourself silly whenever you wanted (not just holiday dinners) and nobody really gave a shit or tried to make you feel guilty.So when my former coworkers, Nevin and Joe, suggested that we meet at the Burbank Hooters, I said, "Over my dead gay body," and demanded that we go to Hometown Buffet, where I was planning to eat like a mountain man and have a taste of every single dessert—of which there were over a dozen.
But the thing I forget about these buffet places is that children are dirty. I watched this one girl scoop M&M's onto her vanilla ice cream cone, and, with each scoop, her hand dug deeper and deeper into M&M container. Disgusted, I turned away as quickly as I could because in a matter of seconds I knew she would've reached down far enough that the M&M's would be up to her elbow. I settled for cherry pie and chocolate cake, sans M&M's or any other toppings, and they were tasty but I couldn't stop thinking of cooties.Since Nevin and Joe are the type of guys who suggest going to places like the Burbank Hooters, it's surprising we get along so well, but I think they only hang out with me in the hope they'll be mentioned in my blog. This is not an unfair assessment, given the fact that Nevin asked me before I got into my car, "Are you gonna mention us in your blog?"
—Reporting From Glendale, California
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