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Even as my bad three weeks unfolded, I still found time for romance. The name of my crush: the Health Department. I love how much attention they pay to me, I love their inspections, and I love that they’re so fascinated by what I do. They made their preliminary inspection earlier this year and ever since then I’ve been dreaming of their return. I changed my hair. I changed my clothes. I completely changed the way I look just to make them happy.

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I got myself ready for them every night. And every night I waited, staring at the door until the sun came up. Waiting for the phone to ring.

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And then, one night after I’d given up all hope…

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…they came. And not just one of them, but two Health Department inspectors.

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First it was the guy who brought our entire dining room to a halt for an hour while he inspected us. He was amazing! But even more amazing was his boss, the supervisor who came to inspect the inspection an hour later, just when service was about to get back to normal. He managed to bring service crashing to a halt for another forty-five minutes while he re-inspected so he could fill out an evaluation of the inspector who’d just inspected me.

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I had tried so hard to do everything the way they liked. I wore the special rubber gloves they liked. I put in all the additional trash cans the “girls” told me they went nuts for. I did my best to make sure I looked exactly like the restaurants they love so much. I wanted to live up to their fantasy of what I could be. And I thought our date went well. I really, really did.

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And then came that letter in the mail. I was a “B.” A “B!”

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Why must you always hurt me,

Health Department! Why?!?”

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Who were these other tramp restaurants that had “A”s? Who had the Health Department been seeing behind my back? And now, of course, we’ve wound up where all unhappy couples wind up: in court.

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First, I went to court to appeal the penalties. Dirt Candy was 5 points shy of an “A” and the violations were ridiculous. It’s like they were tired of seeing me and just looking for excuses to dump me like last night’s garbage. They said I had a can of spray paint on the shelf with our cleaning products in the basement. Then they said my hood was dusty even though I’d just had it professionally cleaned two weeks before and it had been washed already that week. They were angry about a plastic container with sliced carrots in it that they say was touching some shredded carrots on my prep station. Then there were the points they took off because suddenly I need something called an automatic backflow valve on my dishwasher. They couldn’t possibly date me if I didn’t have an automatic backflow valve on my dishwasher! Realize that I was inspected by the Health Department before I opened and they never mentioned this valve. They’ve inspected me twice since then and they haven’t mentioned this valve. But suddenly, on their fourth inspection, this valve is vital to our continued happiness. Just tell me what you want from me and I’ll do it, but don’t lead me on!

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And, finally, the worst (a whopping 7 points): touching food without gloves. When my first Health Department date showed up service came screeching to a halt. My date wanted to examine every inch of my kitchen and I had to show him all of its nooks and crannies and it became like a human Twister game. (They told me the all boys love Twister! But “they” were wrong!) As we raced to get service back on track, William, my dishwasher, moved five hush puppies from the fry basket into a prep bowl for Jesus, my sous chef, while not wearing gloves. I threw the hush puppies out, but I could tell the inspector was looking at me differently from then on. I think that’s when we really started to grow apart.

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I should have hired a lawyer because that’s what everyone does but I didn’t want to make trouble. I thought we could work this out. So I went to court. But I was no match for the judge of food court. They seduced me with their casual banter: “So there could have been dust on the hood?” “No, there wasn’t.” “But it’s possible? Even a small amount?” “I guess there could have been a little dust but it had just been washed.” Then the decision on the appeal said, “Defendant acknowledges violation.” The appeal only got us 2 points off, based on a typo (the wrong code was entered for the violation). I found that strange because if they’re so concerned about food safety why would they let a typo get in the way? But I guess I’ll never understand what goes on in the heart of the Health Department.

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So now I am 3 points from an “A” and I have a lawyer appealing the appeal, which is exactly what I didn’t want. Come on, Health Department. Do you really want to drag this out in court? Think of the children! They’re going to grow up hating both of us.

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And for now I have a green “B” on the front of Dirt Candy, which is humiliating. It’s my very own scarlet A.

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So not only did my Bad Weeks cost me money, not only did they take up so much time, not only did they bruise my soul, but at the end I find out that I’m a “B.” A girl who’s a “B” isn’t any man’s first choice for a wife! That’s the kind of girl who you go out with because you think she’s…sob…fast!

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Tomorrow: things get worse.

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