You need your fix of fresh vegetables. Not in the mood for the usual solution of ordering various unappetizing sides (an over-baked potato, creamed spinach, the “seasonal vegetable medley” that’s always code for steamed carrots, broccoli, and cauliflower), you go to a vegan restaurant that, for some reason, exists in the middle of nowhere in Arizona.
Throughout the meal, you can’t figure out why the waiter is treating you oddly. It’s not ‘til you lift your leather jacket off your leather purse and pull out your leather wallet to pay that you realize what might be the problem.
And so you tip a little too well, and decide against writing on the receipt that it’s all second-hand so it doesn’t exactly count, and then embarrassedly slink out in your leather boots.