Loaded Baked Potato

 I recently took my parents and my 9 year old out for dinner in downtown Denver while on our way to the Festival of Death (see below). Once off the train, we alternate taking the free bus and walking to decide on a place to eat. I notice my nine year old is getting a bit nervous. She has been to a big city before but she spends most of her time in a small town with trips to the “city” once a week (the city being population 50,000 as opposed to nearly 650,000) so, the first time we pass a man yelling at himself, I find she is trying to fold herself into my side. She also can’t figure out why my parents keep talking to random strangers. Such as the courier whose legs are complimented upon by her grandpa. She wants to know why. Why would someone comment about a perfect strangers legs? In New Zealand, people pass you on the street with little or no eye contact but, in the States if you are walking  along, often conversations occur with random strangers. She feels the need after each one to say  'Why was he saying that to us??' 
After a while, we stop at a deli (just to set the scene here, this is not a restaurant, it is a deli; it serves sandwiches, soups, salads and pastries…) and place our order. My Dad goes last and he asks if he can have a baked potato with chili on it. The poor teenager at the till is very confused and says ‘ummmm. You want chili?’

‘No I want a baked potato with chili on it. Do you have a baked potato?’ 

My mother then tries to explain what a baked potato is to the now very red-faced young man who is still trying to smile at us. ‘You know, a baked potato. You take a potato, poke it with a fork and bake it in the oven until it is cooked.’

‘It says you have a "loaded baked potato" right there on your menu.’ Dad says with confidence. I can’t see it anywhere, so cannot try to help. But then the server nods and places the order. When it comes to our table, there is just a bowl of chili with a bread roll. Dad says to a nearby server ‘there is supposed to be a baked potato with that.’ 
The server looks very confused. ‘We don’t have baked potato’

Dad says, ‘On your menu it says "loaded baked potato".’

‘Umm... we have potato soup…’

‘But it said loaded baked potato…’

‘Yeah, that’s loaded baked potato soup.’

Dad studies his tiny bowl of chili that looks like a kids portion and, in fact, matches the size of my daughter's Mac and Cheese, which we got as a side dish to my half a sandwich. A little defeated he takes the bite of chili.

About half way through the meal, Dad starts to get worried. ‘Melody… I haven’t seen a single bus pass by…’

I say, ‘Dad, that’s not where the busses run. 16^th St is behind you.’ I begin to worry about how Mom and Dad will navigate around their hometown after I am gone...

Since we have eaten very little, we decide to get some cookies but there are no chocolate chip ones. It should be noted here that, if you go to purchase a cookie and they are out of chocolate chip, you should just walk away; very few other cookies are worth the money or the calories. We ignore this sound piece of advice, that I usually adhere to with strictness, and buy the inferior cookies. Mom and I share because, as stated in a previous post, if you share a cookie this negates all calories. Unfortunately, she drops half of her share on the ground. Now, most of you don’t know my mother but for her this is a tragedy, a real one, on par with being robbed.  If she is going to buy something, she will eat every last piece of it; whether she likes it or not, whether it has spoiled in the fridge, or whether it takes an additional twenty minutes to scrape the last few drops or crumbs from the bottom. She does not waste. However, thankfully she does draw the line at eating food off the Downtown Denver sidewalk.  
Dad's disappointing meal finishes with a terrible oatmeal raisin cookie. (Is this really a surprise, I mean, come on, what is the deal? If I wanted a breakfast bar, I would have ordered a breakfast bar. If you are going to make oatmeal cookies, at least put chocolate chips in them.) We divide the terrible oatmeal cookie and my remaining half between us.
I then have to beg and plead with Dad not to eat the cookie off the ground. He claims it will just build his immune system. I am trying to explain that it is not just dirt on the ground and consuming whatever is on the ground is not the same thing as getting immunized and may in fact have the opposite deadly effect. My panic, as I watch the contaminated cookie get closer to his mouth, has made my voice rather loud and shrill and I am not very coherent. I think, just to get me to stop, not because he agrees with me, he concedes and the E. coli cookie remains abandoned on the empty plate.
 We leave the restaurant, navigating around the homeless people being arrested and the man shouting at the fence. Amelia and I leave a couple of paces behind Mom and Dad and are now faced with a choice: Mom has gone to the left to have a look at the miniature golf course with mini replicas of Denver landmarks and Dad has taken off to the right and down the street to catch the bus to the event. Now I find myself trying to yell over the heads of the arresting officers to get Dad to come back, but simultaneously trying not to draw attention to myself because I do not want to be arrested. And you never know when a case of mistaken identity could end up with you in prison...
Amelia runs off to follow Mom (because she lives in a safe country where running off does not normally end up in grievous bodily harm).  Now I am yelling for both Amelia AND Dad, yet still trying to keep a "I-am-a-normal-person" expression on my face. Because I can't get Dad's attention I run over to Amelia and Mom and force them to follow me, ending their tourism. As we serpentine through the homeless people, I remind Amelia not to step on the blanket that is on the ground. She of course asks why. I then have to explain that it is the man's who is being arrested and, even though it looks like trash, it is his and we must respect it. This is all so confusing that she attempts to ask several questions but can't quite form them in her mind and gives up. We finally catch up with Dad who has missed a bus, so is waiting for the next one.  Next time, I am going to put those leashes you can buy for kids on everybody.