The blue and yellow place and those damned good meatballs

The revolving door turned for the last time and I was ushered into the foyer with a rush of cool air from outside. No concierge greeted me, no waiter in a black suit and bow tie...My table wasn't reserved nor set with cutlery, nay, it didn't even have a table cloth upon it to buffer it's hard vinyl surface, but it awaited me nonetheless, and I awaited it.

I could have gone anywhere to dine however I chose this place, the hankering for Swedish meatballs, completely traditional of course, was too great to deny. So I entered the big blue and yellow building braving the screaming kids, buyers looking for more cheap items to festoon their homes with for a brief time prior to throwing it all out and starting over...And the possible threat of germs, disease or illness from cheap food made in bulk just to get my mouth around some of those tasty little roundish things drizzled in sauce with a scoop of mushed potato's on the side. Glorious.

The cutlery clanged slightly as I put them down on the plate, the perfectly clean plate. Not loud enough to be heard above the din in the dining room though; I don't think a jumbo jet crashing into a china shop would be heard above the cacophony made by the people in this dining room, let alone the sound of another set of cutlery being retired. I looked around wondering if I could abide the environment for another minute or two, do some people-watching maybe, but decided it was not something I'd like to risk. One of these screaming kids may end up really having something to scream about. So I left.

I was sated. Had had my Swedish meatball fix and all for the low price offered by the establishment to get people in the door. I wondered for a moment at how food could be so cheap here but decided lingering on that conundrum might lead my logical mind to places I didn't want it to go considering I'd just eaten my fill. And so I remained blissfully unaware.

The fresh air outside was welcome, but not as welcome as the sound of silence. Well, the sound of traffic noise that sounded much like silence to my poor ears after the assault they had undergone in the big blue and yellow building. I made my way to my car and as I turned onto the main road looked over wondering why I bothered to come down here for lunch considering the noise, questionable quality and risk of kid-germs but knowing, deep inside, I'll be back. It's those damned meatballs you know; I have no clue as to their ingredients, but am their willing slave nonetheless.