Page 29 of Ripped & Shipped
I sit in stunned silence.
“Okay,” she says, sitting up and getting right back into business mode. “Now we just wait for the comments. Then we’ll order. Let’s see if Shawna will let us film her.”
Meanwhile, my mind’s still trying to process that introduction.
“How many people were watching you—us—just then?” I ask as Ella Mae waves her hand to flag down Shawna.
“Only three thousand or so.”
“Only?”
“I was at seven K before. Maybe it will pick up for our actual dining experience.”
“Three thousand,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Three thousand people want to watch you eat dinner?”
“Chris. I know I’m worse than the muck Jed White gets on his boots back home, but elsewhere, people actually want to watch me. I eveninspirepeople.”
“Inspire? With a sandwich and a shake?”
I’m not picking on her, I’m just baffled.
“Inspire. I’m here for them. I encourage them to be themselves—the best version of themselves. And, yes, I entertain.”
“You do that,” I admit.
Shawna arrives at our table. Ella Mae asks Shawna if we can film her while we order, promising her a big tip. Shawna looks thrilled that she’ll get to be on the video. Ella Mae scrolls the comments. When she says, “Ready,” she turns the camera on, asks me to pick a number between one and three hundred eighty-two. I guess that’s how many comments there were. Then I pick another. And another. And that’s how I end up with Anne Burrell's Double Smashed Burger with a side of mac-n-cheese, and hot fudge cake for dessert.
Shawna’s so serious and overly friendly as she takes our order, I start to wonder if she’s one of those waitresses who aspires to be an actress. She’s not likely to get discovered on the outskirts of Columbus, but stranger things have happened—like me sitting here having dinner with Ella Mae.
Our food arrives. Ella Mae records Shawna announcing each item as she sets them on the table for us and graciously asks if she can get us anything else.
Then Ella Mae says, “Shawna, ladies and gentlemen! Isn’t she just the best?”
Shawna beams.
I even inspire people. Yeah, Maybe you do.
I shake my head.
It feels like I’ve entered an alternate reality where Ella Mae doesn’t annoy me so much, and I can actually see the value in her ridiculous social media obsession.
I’ll willingly camp out in this reality for a while because the smell of this meal—two patties, cheese, shoestring fries on the burger, onions and all the fixin’s—is rising up from my plate and nearly making my mouth water. The thing is probably five inches tall.
I’ll manage.
Ella Mae turns the camera and does a sweep of our table to show off the feast in front of us. Then she whips this little bendable, table-top tripod out of her purse and props the camera in it. She’s like Mary Poppins with her carpet bag, only way sexier and far more eccentric. And you’ve got to work hard to be more eccentric than Mary Poppins.
She pats the seat next to her. “Move over here, Big Boy. The peeps need to be able to see both of us in the same frame. Not that you’ll fit a frame, but we’ll do our best, won’t we?”
I’m speechless, so I just scoot over, dragging my plate and shake with me, and reaching for my bowl of mac-n-cheese once I’m situated.
Ella Mae runs the show. It’s a meal, but we have to elaborate about each thing we’re eating.
“Okay, Chris. Let’s watch you dig into that scrumptious burger. It’s about as big as my head!”
I laugh, and then I face down the massive stack of meat, bread, and condiments. Grabbing it with both hands, I bring it up to my mouth and take a substantial bite. Something hits my chin, and I know there’s food on my face. On camera.
Ella Mae giggles. It’s this sound that’s so natural and unmanufactured. It’s just her, having fun, losing herself in the moment.
