I know a variety of people whom I think are better off staying home because they're such picky eaters.

One time I was on a trip with three of them. Here's what happened when we went to a breakfast restaurant together:

Person #1 is very capable in a kitchen, cooks for herself frequently, and thus is accustomed to having food exactly as she wants. She wanted an omelet, but she wanted information about all the possible ingredients (e.g., "What kind of cheeses do you have? Are the mushrooms fresh or canned?") and ultimately ended up asking for a custom omelet in which she specified every. Single. Ingredient. Her order required several minutes of information gathering and negotiation. I swear it took her longer to order than it would have taken her to make an omelet in her own kitchen.

Person #2 has some dietary restrictions. He has to watch his sugar levels, and he knows he needs to cut down on cholesterol and salt, too. What he should do is order a fruit and yogurt plate and be done with it, but no, he wants to figure out exactly how much fried eggs, bacon, and hashed browns he can get without killing himself. So he's asking for nutrition counts on all kinds of "bad" foods, looking for substitutions, and asking for things like hashed browns made without salt added. Another several minutes of negotiation.

Person #3 has a few food allergies. There are also some things she plain doesn't like. Unfortunately some of these are common ingredients and condiments in restaurant food. She has to go through the ingredients list of everything on the menu and ask for removals or substitutions. "I'd like the western omelet but no bacon. I don't like pork. ... Oh, that's basically a veggie omelet? Okay, then give me a veggie omelet, but no onions. I'm allergic. I don't like toast, may I have extra potatoes instead. And a coffee, no cream. Don't even put cream on my side of the table, it grosses me out."

Finally the waitress looks at me. She is exhausted and worried because she has been standing at our table for literally 10 minutes while we've monopolized her time. "French toast, side of sausage links, tall orange juice," I say, matter-of-factly.

She looks at me again, waiting for MY questioning and negotiation to start.

"That'll do it for me, thanks."