The sign said "All You Can Eat." It did not specify a limit. It did not say "reasonable amounts only." It did not say "please leave some crab legs for the other guests." These are critical oversights in their business model.
I arrived at 11:30 AM, which is technically lunch but spiritually breakfast for my lifestyle. The buffet stretched before me like a beautiful, steaming landscape of possibility. Prime rib. Fried shrimp. A chocolate fountain that had seen better days. I saw it all, and I made a plan.
The first hour was reconnaissance. I sampled everything. I took notes on a napkin. I identified the highest-value items and calculated their refill schedules. The crab legs came out every forty-five minutes. The prime rib was carved fresh every thirty. I adjusted my strategy accordingly.
By hour two, I had established a rhythm. The staff began to recognize me. Not in a friendly way. In the way that gazelles recognize a lion. There were whispers. There were pointed glances. One waiter asked if I was "still working on that" and I said yes because I was.
Hour three is when the manager appeared. He had the look of a man who had done this before. "Sir," he said, "we've noticed you've been here for quite some time." I reminded him of the sign. ALL YOU CAN EAT. He reminded me that I had consumed approximately 27 crab legs, 4 plates of prime rib, and an amount of shrimp he described as "concerning."
I was asked to leave. Not violently. Just... firmly. They refunded my money, which I considered a victory. They also said I was "no longer welcome," which I considered a badge of honor.
The buffet closed six months later. Unrelated, I'm sure.