Ribeye and Garlic and Buns, Oh Mai!

Some of you may know this, and some of you will never have to know it, but I'm going to tell you anyway.  If you have a band instrument you need fixed, Bob Joffs is the only guy in Utah who should fix it, and he lives in Millcreek.  So I threw the babes in the car right after the last kid's last-minute homework frenzy this morning and we were off to pick up a piccolo.

That accomplished, the babies and I had all kinds of options for what to do next.  Just me, an opinionated toddler and a baby who had just eaten a green marker.  We could do whatever we wanted.  (Or as Ptolemy says, "I can do EVER I WANT!!!")  And since we were in Salt Lake...I couldn't just drive right by Oh Mai without getting a bahn mi, our current obsession.  It wasn't really on the way, but this restaurant has a gravitational pull, and we arrived at the front door promptly at 10:00, when it opens.  (I just happen to know the hours.  Thankfully, it's closed on Sunday because I'm pretty sure I could make it there and back during Sunday School if I had to.)

But the doors were locked this morning!  Not to be deterred from that sizzling garlic ribeye tucked inside that crispy, doughy bun, I called in my order from the curb.   They said it would be 30 minutes before the meat was done, and I was on State Street with two babies at 10 o'clock in the morning.  Not much going on, except Ptolemy peeing his pants.  Good, now we had something to do while we were waiting for our sandwiches, besides get matching tattoos.  I found a store and bought the little guy a new outfit.  The nice cashier asked him how old he was and he said, "Eight."  Yes, Ptolemy recently decided that he has turned eight.  He got tired of being three, and he announced to everyone, "I turned eight!"  Except that the cashier believed him, which prompted a really awkward conversation in which she called him a midget and then apologized, but could not remember the PC term, "little person," try as she might.  And boy did she try.  Oh, it was ugly.  Weirdly, she did not seem to believe me when I told her Ptolemy was really three.

To ameliorate the trauma of being called names, I took Ptolemy to a place called Badass Coffee and got him a Rice Krispy Treat and a bag of fruit snacks.  Keep in mind, we were on State Street and 33rd South.  Our options were limited to tattoo parlors and sushi bars.  As much as I would have loved to get Tolly a spider roll for breakfast, we lucked out with the kid-friendly snacks at Badass.  Who knew, right?!  Maybe they're not as badass as they think they are, if they're going to sell fruit snacks.

At last Oh Mai's doors opened and our sandwiches were placed in our hands.  We delivered Scott's garlic ribeye bahn mi to court and continued on to our next destination, Nana's house.  By this time, my sandwich was gone and Ptolemy's new pants were falling off.  They were too big, which makes sense, because he's an eight-year-old LP and the pants were a 3T.  Nana took one look at Ptolemy's bare bum as he leaned over her bowl of candy and said, "Oh dear."  She was back with a safety pin in no time.  Nana is just like a Vietnamese sandwich.  She makes everything all better.

Tonight I was at pack meeting when I got a picture from Scott on my phone.  It was Scott and Ruby at Oh Mai.  The gravitational pull had gotten them when they were at guitar, a mere 30 blocks away.  How could they not?  Suddenly, with the prospect of a Vietnamese sandwich coming my way, Christmas caroling with a dozen Bear scouts didn't sound so bad.  And you know if just the promise of a sandwich can make pack meeting fun, it's gotta be good.  What are you waiting for?  Go!  Go now.  If Oh Mai happens to be closed, there's a little Middle Eastern market next door called Sinbad's that sells exotic spices and basmati rice in beautiful burlap bags.  They don't have Rice Krispy Treats, though.