We Seem To Be At An Impasse Over What $24.99 Worth Of Shrimp Looks Like

Well, sir, it pains me to say this, but it appears we are at loggerheads: I have said my piece. You have responded in kind. Yet despite my best efforts—and considerable hunger—we seem to have reached an impasse over what $24.99 worth of shrimp looks like.

As you know, Kyle, I have been a loyal customer at the Shell Shack for many years, and I have come to expect so much more than this.

When I ordered the Captain’s Bounty several minutes ago, I did so in good faith, expecting the quantity of shrimp to reflect the listed price. You can imagine my shock, then, when this paltry collection of withered-looking crustaceans arrived at my table, in direct contrast to the assertion—nay, promise—made right there on this large, laminated menu that it was the “best deal in town” and that this purported “seafood feast” was not to be missed.

At that point, I asked you where the rest of the shrimp were. You replied that this was how many you get in the Captain’s Bounty. I insisted that it looked more like $19.99 worth of shrimp, and you told me they’re more filling than they look. Do I look like a fool to you? I’ve already sampled several bites from this pathetic excuse for a shellfish platter and find it hardly befitting the suggestion that it’s “generous enough to satisfy even the hungriest mariner”! Generous? I don’t think so, sir.

Of course, I am not so obtuse as to believe that hearing once more about my shrimp-deprived plight will stir some pity in your heart. You have made your stance abundantly clear. Still, I urge you to heed my words. You may have the upper hand now, but in the grand scheme of time, history will not look kindly on you and your shrimp apportionment. 

For the wrong done to me here today is clear to anyone with eyes. Just look at this so-called Captain’s Bounty! Show me—where is the bounty to be found? Almost all I see on this plate is parsley! Parsley and lies. And in what world does any of this constitute a “heaping helping” of mouthwatering shrimp? “Seasoned to perfection”? I suppose. But “piled high”? Don’t insult my intelligence.

All these words, however, matter little to one as callous as you—and that’s what this little standoff of ours really comes down to, does it not? We both have our roles to play here in this delicate pas de deux of seafood-dining justice. Like Cicero and Clodius on the floor of the Senate, we have battled it out as two titans of old. But we have reached a stalemate in this deadly game if all you can do is ask me to lower my voice and consider getting a side of calamari.

I don’t want calamari! I want what was promised. I want a “shrimp bonanza.”  

So then, Kyle, where do we go from here? We both know there are plenty more shrimp in that kitchen of yours. I can hear them sizzling in the deep fryer right now. All that I have asked is for you to bring me three or four of those shrimp and put them on my plate, plus a couple more to replace the ones that fell on the floor when I dramatically waved the basket around to show the whole restaurant what injustice looks like. 

Yes, I will take another Sprite. That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all evening.

It has been suggested to me by some, most notably my wife, that I break off negotiations entirely and, quote, “stop ruining our daughter’s graduation dinner.” So I ask you now, not as an adversary, but as a man and as a shrimp-lover: Kyle, please, would you at least knock off half the price or throw in a free dessert like the admittedly tempting Whale of a Butterscotch Sundae? No?

Very well. The fates have spoken, and they have not favored me. Now, the only path that remains for me is to look you in the eye, shake your hand, and then sprint into the kitchen to stuff as many handfuls of shrimp into my mouth as I can before you stop me.

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