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You know, just not having to hear the phrases "And how are you guys tonight?" "My name is Shia and I'll be your server." "Still working on that?" is enough to arouse my curiosity. Plus, I notice that in the photo, there is a button labeled "Request the Bill?" The worst part of dining out is when the bottle of wine is drained, there's nothing more to say, and you just - can't - get - your - bill.

No, waiters/waitresses/servers get tipped. And I guess there are some places where baggers get tipped, but not where I live, although I suspect those would be the situations where the baggers also carried them out to your car like they did Back In The Day.

It was just a badly placed sentence, writing off the top of my head. The tipping thing popped ujp in my brain when I thought I was done....

@lemons:

1. Love the name

2. Grocery baggers get tipped?! Is this an American thing? This actually made me think of the episode of the Simpsons where the baggers went on strike.

The self waitering sounds like an interesting novelty. Generally when I go to restaurants I order off the menu and leave it at that, no special requests. I think this would work best at a chain type restaurant with straightforward menus that won't require a lot of explanation.

"Hot Choice" Tombstone Deep Dish Pepperoni Pizza

Submitted by Robert Moor

Visiting my old alma mater last week, I was drawn like a gluttonous moth to a vending machine reading "Tombstone Pizza." Yes, pizza from a vending machine. I stood, perplexed, imagining the birth of warm pizza from this cold mechanical womb. An undergrad strolled by and chuckled, obviously familiar with this pitiable sight. "Have you tried it?" I asked. "It sucks. No one even bothers," she responded. With that, of course, my mind was set. I would do what no one else had the heart to do—I would venture into the future.

After some deliberation, I opted for the pepperoni pizza, choosing it over other, less traditional choices such as chicken fingers, barbecue chicken pizza, or a warm Oreo brownie. I fed it my three dollars (!) and eagerly watched the baking process on a small digital screen.

The result? One minute later, the machine spit out a small cardboard package, which it warned would be "Very Hot." Inside was a hot (not very hot) "pizza" about the size of a video iPod. Approximately 75 percent of this tawdry square was composed of dough, which was thick, salty, and tasted something like baked Silly Putty. The bright-red pepperonis were tiny, faintly reminiscent of Bacos ("MADE WITH PORK, CHICKEN, AND BEEF," the package proudly proclaimed), and actually more numerous than the shreds of cheese by a ratio of 2-to-1. Needless to say, I devoured it in a matter of seconds.

After one bite, I understood the undergrad's grave warning. Never eat pizza from a machine. It's like making love to a Terminator: almost satisfying, but slightly creepy, and there's always the possibility that it will collapse your chest cavity with one fatal blow. Thank you, Tombstone, but I'll take my pizza the way it was meant to be prepared: baked lovingly by burnt-out hippies and their disgruntled, overweight, mustachioed Italian managers. Or underpaid illegal immigrants. Whichever.

(i shamelessly copy-pasted this from http://www.mcsweeneys.net/links/newfood/. internet faux pas?)

I'm with the National Automatic Merchandising Association. If you're interested in fun vending machines go over to ww.CoolVending.biz. There are a variety of different machines, some history and "The Secret Life of Vending Machines."

Adam, If you're interested in attending the vending expo in October, let me know.