you don't mess with james e
Aug. 15th, 2003 02:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fearlesstempOkay, so this simply must be documented.
My father turned fifty-three this week and my grandfather decided to take us all out to dinner on Wednesday to celebrate. And so we all gather together, pick up Grandpa, haul butt over the river to the little Italian restaurant that's been selected, and get seated three tables away from the Worst Table Ever, In The History Of Time.
Now honestly? As a group? My family is fairly tolerant of little kids in restaurants. I *understand* that a restaurant is not a natural environment for a toddler and that they're probably going to get bored or cranky or whatever, so I don't flip out if the tears erupt or wailing occurs. But when it goes on for like ten minutes unabated? With two other children racing around the restaurant, nearly running down waitresses, all while the parents sit and do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to stop them other than halfheartedly gathering them up whenever a waitress would walk into a kid? Then it bothers me. We literally could not hear each other talk over the sound of the screaming two-year-old and since it looked like nothing was going to happen, we resorted to the passive-aggresive person's best weapon: The Dirty Look.
After about twenty minutes, I had it down -- sit up straight, pause, look over left shoulder, perhaps make eye contact, stare a moment longer than necessary, then turn calmly back to the table. I sound so obnoxious! But seriously? It was out of control. Waitresses kept coming over to our table, apologizing while they leaned close to drop off bread or get drink orders, telling us that the worst part was that the parents found it all very funny -- which was true. They were laughing! Getting a kick out of it!
It was so incredibly annoying.
Anyway, eventually the hostess came over to their table and says something, after which nothing changed. Then later, this guy (presumably the owner) came out of the kitchen and informed the group that they would have to leave and take their dinners in doggy bags. The table promptly FLIPPED OUT, demanding refunds and refusing to pay the whole meal, storming around the restaurant swearing, etc etc. It was lovely. We were all quietly excited they were getting the boot, doing our best to eavesdrop without looking obvious.
Finally, things calmed and quieted down and this voice comes booming across the dining room from The Table From Hell. "I hope you enjoy your fucking dinner," Mr. Unfortunate Goatee spat at us.
I know! So classy!
My grandfather turned his head and said in his most imperious tone, "Excuse me? I heard that!" James E don't take crap from nobody.
And then -- and THEN -- Mr. Unfortunate Goatee said, in response to my grandfather -- directly to my eighty-six year old grandfather, "Yeah, I'm going to come over there and slap your face."
Slap his face! Wow, he is sooooooooo brave and manly, threatening to slap a man six decades older than him. I am so turned on just by typing this.
Anyway, in response to Mr. Unfortunate Goatee's comment, my mother turned and gasped out, "Oh my GOD!"
On the heels of that Mr. Unfortunate Goatee's other half came back into the dining area and said, "Hey, you better stop, they're going to call the cops" in the same sort of tone you'd hear someone say something like "Hey, you'd better stop, it looks like it's going to rain." COMPLETELY matter-of-fact like this happens every day.
The best part of this is how the three most able-bodied among our group -- in descending order, my brother, me, and my father -- did absolutely NOTHING during this exchange. Well, I think I muttered "I didn't say anything" when Mr. Unfortunate Goatee told us to enjoy our fucking dinner, but in terms of calling Mr. Unfortunate Goatee out and standing firm? It was my eighty-six-year-old grandfather leading the way, baby, with my fifty-two year old arthritic mother backing him up. The rest of us just cowered in terror, staring down at our plates, hoping not to get shot. My father said that as a lawyer, he was used to being called worse, usually by his clients. My brother and I are just wimps.
It was insane!! They took forever to leave and even after they did, I was afraid they were waiting outside to slash our tires. After they'd gone and we were all sitting around reliving the adventure, the waitress came over to our table, leaned down next to me, and said, "It was your last look at them that did it -- I saw the expression on your face and said 'Yep, they've got to go.'"
My dirty look was so powerful it got people removed from a restaurant AND pissed them off enough to threaten us with bodily harm! How do I HARNESS this power for my own conscious use?! It comes and goes at its own will, occasionally getting me out of demeaning office tasks like making coffee and ejecting fellow restaurant patrons at will! I hadn't really wanted the people to get kicked out, just to realize how inappropriate their behavior was and to maybe keep a better eye on their kids.
It was kind of good that it happened because it made the rest of the dinner rather fun, since we could turn to each other and say, "Hey Dad, how's the shrimp? Good? That's good, because you really should enjoy your effing dinner."
Craziness! You can't take my family anywhere.
My father turned fifty-three this week and my grandfather decided to take us all out to dinner on Wednesday to celebrate. And so we all gather together, pick up Grandpa, haul butt over the river to the little Italian restaurant that's been selected, and get seated three tables away from the Worst Table Ever, In The History Of Time.
Now honestly? As a group? My family is fairly tolerant of little kids in restaurants. I *understand* that a restaurant is not a natural environment for a toddler and that they're probably going to get bored or cranky or whatever, so I don't flip out if the tears erupt or wailing occurs. But when it goes on for like ten minutes unabated? With two other children racing around the restaurant, nearly running down waitresses, all while the parents sit and do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to stop them other than halfheartedly gathering them up whenever a waitress would walk into a kid? Then it bothers me. We literally could not hear each other talk over the sound of the screaming two-year-old and since it looked like nothing was going to happen, we resorted to the passive-aggresive person's best weapon: The Dirty Look.
After about twenty minutes, I had it down -- sit up straight, pause, look over left shoulder, perhaps make eye contact, stare a moment longer than necessary, then turn calmly back to the table. I sound so obnoxious! But seriously? It was out of control. Waitresses kept coming over to our table, apologizing while they leaned close to drop off bread or get drink orders, telling us that the worst part was that the parents found it all very funny -- which was true. They were laughing! Getting a kick out of it!
It was so incredibly annoying.
Anyway, eventually the hostess came over to their table and says something, after which nothing changed. Then later, this guy (presumably the owner) came out of the kitchen and informed the group that they would have to leave and take their dinners in doggy bags. The table promptly FLIPPED OUT, demanding refunds and refusing to pay the whole meal, storming around the restaurant swearing, etc etc. It was lovely. We were all quietly excited they were getting the boot, doing our best to eavesdrop without looking obvious.
Finally, things calmed and quieted down and this voice comes booming across the dining room from The Table From Hell. "I hope you enjoy your fucking dinner," Mr. Unfortunate Goatee spat at us.
I know! So classy!
My grandfather turned his head and said in his most imperious tone, "Excuse me? I heard that!" James E don't take crap from nobody.
And then -- and THEN -- Mr. Unfortunate Goatee said, in response to my grandfather -- directly to my eighty-six year old grandfather, "Yeah, I'm going to come over there and slap your face."
Slap his face! Wow, he is sooooooooo brave and manly, threatening to slap a man six decades older than him. I am so turned on just by typing this.
Anyway, in response to Mr. Unfortunate Goatee's comment, my mother turned and gasped out, "Oh my GOD!"
On the heels of that Mr. Unfortunate Goatee's other half came back into the dining area and said, "Hey, you better stop, they're going to call the cops" in the same sort of tone you'd hear someone say something like "Hey, you'd better stop, it looks like it's going to rain." COMPLETELY matter-of-fact like this happens every day.
The best part of this is how the three most able-bodied among our group -- in descending order, my brother, me, and my father -- did absolutely NOTHING during this exchange. Well, I think I muttered "I didn't say anything" when Mr. Unfortunate Goatee told us to enjoy our fucking dinner, but in terms of calling Mr. Unfortunate Goatee out and standing firm? It was my eighty-six-year-old grandfather leading the way, baby, with my fifty-two year old arthritic mother backing him up. The rest of us just cowered in terror, staring down at our plates, hoping not to get shot. My father said that as a lawyer, he was used to being called worse, usually by his clients. My brother and I are just wimps.
It was insane!! They took forever to leave and even after they did, I was afraid they were waiting outside to slash our tires. After they'd gone and we were all sitting around reliving the adventure, the waitress came over to our table, leaned down next to me, and said, "It was your last look at them that did it -- I saw the expression on your face and said 'Yep, they've got to go.'"
My dirty look was so powerful it got people removed from a restaurant AND pissed them off enough to threaten us with bodily harm! How do I HARNESS this power for my own conscious use?! It comes and goes at its own will, occasionally getting me out of demeaning office tasks like making coffee and ejecting fellow restaurant patrons at will! I hadn't really wanted the people to get kicked out, just to realize how inappropriate their behavior was and to maybe keep a better eye on their kids.
It was kind of good that it happened because it made the rest of the dinner rather fun, since we could turn to each other and say, "Hey Dad, how's the shrimp? Good? That's good, because you really should enjoy your effing dinner."
Craziness! You can't take my family anywhere.
