Two of my friends and I went to eat dinner at a Chinese restaurant.
My first friend ordered his meal, and found out that it came with a soup or salad. Great, he said. What kinds of dressings do you have?
The waiter said something, “and ranch.”
“Uh,” my friend said, not sure what the first thing was, “I’ll do the first one.” He picked that one because he assumed it was some Chinese-food kind of dressing and wanted to try it.
The waiter then repeated the dressing, and this time it was plain as day what it was he’d said.
The waiter repeated the dressing name for confirmation. This time I understood him.
“Yes,” my friend said, still not understanding the waiter.
“What’s that taste like?,” my other friend asked, trying to figure out the dressing.
The waiter looked at us like we were idiots. I had to keep back a laugh. The waiter thought for a minute and then said, “Italy.”
The dressing, by the by, was Italian.