I have come to think of it as the wrath of Hestia.

For the uninformed among you, Hestia is the Roman goddess of home, hearth and cooking. She presided over the cooking of bread and the preparation of the family meal. The cooking of sacrificial meat was a key part of her domain.

She is a vengeful, virgin goddess. I don’t know if the two are connected.

But I have felt her hot wrath every time I have impetuously left a restaurant, for one reason or another. I have violated the Hestian Rule of “wait for a table, sit down and shut up.” I have paid the price.

The latest Hestian incident occurred Saturday last when Blue Eyes and I made our semiannual trip to Sam’s to purchase a lifetime (and beyond) supply of merchandise. Weakened by this shopping orgy, we sought sustenance at the bottom of Sam’s hill, at the local Olive Garden.

I don’t know what it is about the Olive Garden. Sure, it has decent Italian food. Sure, the luncheon chicken parm is a great deal. But on this afternoon there were people inside, standing and sitting, waiting for a table. There were 20 people sitting outside, waiting for a table.

No way.

The rule which opposes the Hestian Rule is that of Cobb Manor: No Lines. We left. Cobb Manor beat the goddess, at least for the moment.

We abandoned the Garden and headed to “downtown” Augusta (there is none) and Delia’s Irish Pub, which was famous for being on the river and for employing at least one gorgeous Galucki daughter. We were gloriously behind the times, of course. The restaurant was closed and locked, out of business. Even the tables and chairs were gone. No Galucki daughter.

We tried the pizza joint next door. Closed. We walked down to Java Joe’s, a decent sandwich shop. The door sign said “open 11-4 on Saturday.” It was noon. Java Joe’s was closed. Hestia was watching.

A barbecue joint was open and actually serving food, but Blue Eyes rejected the venue on vegetarian grounds.

I remembered Burnsie’s sandwich shop from my brief tour working at the state house. Closed. I remember fondly the bubbling dishes at Margarita’s. We drove to the other end of the city. That door sign said “open at 4 p.m.”

It was now 2 p.m. We decided to drive home hungry and not aggravate Hestia any further. We rejected Subway (enough, already) and then Applebee’s on familiar, vegetarian grounds. Needless to say, McDonald’s and Burger King never earned consideration.

At the very last minute, we lurched into the Augusta House of Pancakes. We were desperate.

Another door sign. This one read “closed at 2 p.m.”

We ran in the door and begged for food, any food. “All right, but it has to be quick,” said the wonderful waitress. We hurriedly ordered grilled cheese sandwiches and added a few slices of tomatoes for the gourmets lurking within.

No meal was ever better. Not even Thanksgiving dinner. We gobbled down lunch and decided to obey the Hestian Rule from this day forth.

Wait for a table. Sit down. Shut up.

Yes, Hestia.

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.