"How 'bout it, Greg?"

LowTide Morning - December 8, 2018

"How 'bout it, Greg?"

It is the dead of winter. Coats are on. The maître d' collects coats at the entrance. Everyone enjoys an excellent dinner with appetizers, wine, and dessert. When it is time to leave, the maître d' hands Greg "his" coat. The problem: it isn't Greg's coat.

Maître d': "Are you sure this isn't your coat?"

Greg gives him the look. He puts the coat on, and the sleeves are three inches too short.

"Oh, sorry. Someone else must have mistakenly taken your coat. Maybe he will bring it back."

Greg gives the look again. If the sleeves on the coat left behind were three inches too short, don't you think one would notice the sleeves on the absconded coat were three inches too long?

"We'll pay to replace your coat."

According to Greg, the coat is irreplaceable. Not to mention it is the dead of winter, and he now is without a coat.

Greg vows never to eat at another Ruth's Chris Restaraunt. Too bad. It's a great restaurant; I only recently learned it also has a great story behind the unusual name.

Ruth Fertel, a single mother, was struggling to make ends meet. She had no experience in the restaurant business, but when the highly successful Chris Steakhouse came up for sale, Ruth saw it as an opportunity. She negotiated to keep the name of the restaurant and mortgaged her house to seal the deal. Things were going well. Then the restaurant burned to the ground. Before she threw in the towel, she turned to Plan B. They also owned a nearby property that they were able to convert within seven days into a new restaurant.

The caveat is that Ruth was not permitted to keep the name, Chris Steakhouse, at a different location. They renamed the new location Ruth's Chris Steakhouse. It was a much larger location—the old restaurant seated 60 customers; the new restaurant could seat 160 customers. The business became even more successful. It grew into a franchise with more than 100 restaurants located in the United States, Canada, and Mexico.

Sometimes things go wrong and turn out right.

For years I enjoyed Sally Anderson's study group. She taught about what she called "the death of a vision"—when your dreams collapse and all but die, then something miraculous happens, and your dream resurrects. Glory!

I remember finally settling on my wedding dress and making the down payment. Less than a week later, I receive a phone call.

"Miss Fawley, we regret to tell you that somehow we accidentally sold your wedding dress to someone else."

I'm sure, like Greg, I had the look. "Well, get it back!"

"No, that is not possible."

Seriously?

The wedding is still months away. I do not look for another dress. 
Later, I receive a second phone call happily telling me that the dress is back.

Now and then, due to good fortune or a higher power, your dreams renew.

But sometimes, you lose your coat and freeze half to death in the dead of winter. You win some. You lose some—you get over it, get on with it, get by. Or, vow never to eat again at Ruth's Chris Restaraunt.

I'm not one for breaking vows, but in addition to serving decadent steak, Ruth's Chris Steakhouse has the best pecan pie ever. "How 'bout it, Greg?"

~ LowTide explorer, Carolyn Fjeran

[LowTide is an eclectic collection of discoveries and reflective writings.]