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My family came to visit me in Florida recently. Their sole request was to patronize a Tijuana Flats since they don't have one at home in Ohio. No problem! I can put down some tacos and am an enthusiastic T-Flats connoisseur. In fact, the chain is home to my favorite sugary-garlicky-spicy sauce, an all-purpose accoutrement I keep in my fridge.

Turns out, my personal stash ran dry just before this visit. I usually order the bottle online to avoid the withering horror of saying the name out loud. This time though, I stepped to the register, ordered my meal and said, "AND CAN I PLEASE HAVE A BOTTLE OF SMACK MY SWEET ASS AND CALL ME SALLY?"

The cashier and I locked eyes. She smirked. We briefly coexisted in a liminal space of shame and humiliation, a sea of cringe that crests when a business forces a customer to utter something absolutely bananas in an otherwise staid transaction.

"One bottle of Smack Sweet," she confirmed, which is what the employees call it to avoid repeating the cursed phrase SMACK MY SWEET ASS AND CALL ME SALLY. She handed me the equally humbling bottle, which features a buxom cartoon babe probably conceptualized in 1995.

I recently reread an essay from George Saunders that, to paraphrase, posits that the true nature of comedy comes not from a setup/punchline structure but from the tension that occurs when expectations and reality don't match. I believe this to be gospel. For instance, my husband walked the dog today down by the pond with the expectation of looking peacefully at the birds. Instead, he found himself screaming "WHAT THE *%# DID YOU EAT" and yanking a foreign object from the Pomeranian's jaws to a symphony of repugnant gagging sounds.

In a food situation, the expectation is to ask for, you know, a cheeseburger or a waffle, eat, pay and leave. The expectation is not to be held hostage under fluorescent restaurant lights while forced to recite lines from The Walrus and the Carpenter. Like, "Hi, thanks, we're trying to catch a show, so can we put in an order of Shoes, Ships and Sealing Wax with a side of Cabbages and Kings?"

Many have heard the restaurant degradation staples, the stalwarts of industry: the Rooty Tooty Fresh 'N Fruity from IHOP, the Moons Over My Hammy from Denny's. Red Robin has recently added the Buzzer Beater cheeseburger, which simply sounds X-rated. The Cheesecake Factory will let everyone in earshot know you're counting calories by making you say the haunted word "SkinnyLicious." Ho-ho-ho, how about a Tipsy Reindeer from Applebee's? Or the Radical Rita sponsored by Kelly Kapowski at Chili's? Yes, I have had them both! Yes, they are more fun to say when drunk!

Picture it.

You're on an important business lunch with your boss at Red Lobster. You have real things to talk about -- your performance, your compensation, how your podmate Sheila's Givenchy Organza is making you physically ill. Unfortunately, your boss orders the Shrimp Sensation with a Coastal Colada, and you will no longer be able to take him or this lunch seriously.

You've finally reunited with your estranged father over lunch at Famous Dave's. The first words out of his mouth are, "I'm going all in on the Devil's Spit." Suddenly, relations are strained again.

You've got to break up with your girlfriend. She doesn't have your sense of humor nor your all-consuming fear of being perceived. You didn't know it was over until the moment when, in Cold Stone Creamery, she orders the Cookie Doughn't You Want Some and doesn't even crack a smile. This has to end.

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Stephanie Hayes is a columnist at the Tampa Bay Times in Florida. Follow her at @stephhayes on X or @stephrhayes on Instagram.

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