Tiny Dish, Big Ego

So, there I was, 28 years old, seated in one of the fanciest restaurants in town. I walked in like I owned the place (which, to be fair, I did…in spirit). The leather jacket was on point, the hair casually perfect—Hot Josh mode activated. I ordered the most expensive dish on the menu, expecting a mountain of food worthy of my greatness.

When the waiter finally arrived, I could feel all eyes on me. I smirked. Then came the problem. He placed in front of me the tiniest dish known to mankind. A garnish of garnish. I stared, utterly offended by its microscopic size.

“Excuse me,” I said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Is this a meal or an appetizer for ants?”

The waiter calmly explained it was a gourmet portion. Gourmet or not, I wasn’t about to let this slide. I demanded something bigger, flashier. The waiter looked amused, the people around me were snickering, but I doubled down.

Eventually, they brought out… another tiny dish, just as laughably small. Consequence? I left the restaurant still hungry and with significantly less dignity.

Lesson learned? Sometimes the size of the dish doesn’t match the size of the ego, and not everything can be “upgraded” just by asking for it.