Belly up to the feeding trough

If you want to know what the end of the world will look like, go to Golden Corral restaurant around lunchtime on a Sunday.
Sunday is when Golden Corral is most frighteningly apocalyptic because that’s when you’ll see the best mix of diners eating like it’s their last meal: from executives whose wives have warned them they’re not in the mood to cook to country folks who’ve roused themselves from the holler for a trip to “town.”
Usually, I have just two strict criteria for dining out. I want food I have to eat with a fork -- nothing wrapped in paper, please. And I want someone else to bring the food to me. That’s all. I don’t ask for much.
Golden Corral, which says it’s the “largest buffet in Middle Tennessee,” doesn’t meet one requirement since I have to get my own food. But it does have a whole lotta food, which works because we have one child who eats everything, one who takes one bite of everything, and another who eats only the bottom layer of the food pyramid.
Variety often trumps service in our family. When we just want everybody to eat something, we go to Golden Corral. Somehow, though, our family transforms into less civilized creatures the minute we hit the door. The change starts in the lobby, which at peak times resembles the waiting area at the Jim Warren Park driver license renewal office.
At Golden Corral, they like to throw you off by doing everything backwards. Right away you are dehumanized just a bit by being required to pay up front for food you haven’t even seen.
Once inside, you understand why it’s called Golden Corral as you get caught up in the stampede toward the buffet. All that matters is you and your plate, and all bets are off if the guy brings out the fresh tray of ribs.
Feeling obliged to keep up our end of the deal with the area’s biggest buffet, we’ll each pile up at least five half-finished plates on the table because we couldn’t decide what to get. That’s how you end up eating bizarre combinations like ham, potatoes and gravy, macaroni, pizza, chips and queso, cooked cabbage and sautéed mushrooms.
And banana pudding.
With half a frosted brownie.
Once I was heading back to the buffet for more fried chicken when I realized I was walking across the room while still chewing. Kids, adults, Harley riders in leather and grandmas with canes all scurry about like ants on a hill, darting in front of each other to grab the last hush puppy. In the face of such bounty, it’s like we never had manners at all.
The baby? Oh, he’ll be fine. He’s in one of those rolling high chairs. The crowd will drag him back around here in a minute.
Did they bring out any more hush puppies yet?