Rethinking an addiction

I ate at smashburger three times last week.  One time all I got was a milk shake, but the other two times I had a cheeseburger and fries.

After my visit Friday night, I might not go back.  : /

The food is great.  I could easily eat there at least once a week.  It's a little pricey, but that's not really the problem.

Every time I've been there, the same guy has been working at the pick-up window, expediting the dining room orders and handling the carry-outs.  He seems nice and he's very friendly.  Too friendly.

I don't know his name, but he seems like an Anthony, so that's what I'm going to call him.  On my first visit, Anthony was appropriately friendly.

On my second visit, the following day, he remembered me from the first visit.  Most people would think that was a positive response that could encourage repeat customers.  However, I was slightly creeped out.

When I went back on Friday, I was dismayed to once again see Anthony working the pick-up window.  The restaurant was sort of busy, so I hoped I could sneak under the radar and he wouldn't notice me.  But since I was placing a to-go order, that was unlikely.

Sure enough, Anthony handed me my white paper bag.  He called me by name (you have to give your name for carry-out orders) and remarked that it was good to see me again.

I should have just smiled and walked away with my order, but I didn't.  Why did my mother raise me to be polite and speak when spoken to?  I said something about smashburger being my new addiction and Anthony said that it wasn't such a bad addiction to have. 

Again, when will I learn to keep my mouth shut?  I replied, "Yeah, except for . . . " and I patted my amply padded hip.  Anthony smiled and said, "Oh I don't think you need to worry about that."         

Finally my brain and good sense kicked in and I did what I should have done in the first place -- smiled and walked out of the restaurant.

In no way do I think that Anthony was flirting with me.  He probably was just being polite.  I am over 50, overweight, and past the point in my life where people might view me as an attractive woman.  For heavens sake, my own husband doesn't have any interest in me, so why would any other man look at me and see anything besides a woman whose better years are long behind her?

It's hard to describe the undercurrent of uneasiness I felt after the Friday night encounter.  I described what happened to a friend and she didn't seem to get the same red flag feeling that I did.  If I do go back to smashburger, I think I'll go with a group of friends or I'll ask my husband to come with me. 

Or maybe it would just be better to not go back.  I have too many addictions as it is.