Yesterday my friend Robbie and I went to lunch. Robbie is well known in the community since she has lived here over half a century and is involved with community projects. I arrived first at the restaurant and got us a table. When she walked in she quickly said hello to another diner and then joined me.
Will she never stop talking?
Not soon after she sat down her friend from the other table came to talk with her. They hadn’t seen each other “since the girls were little. My, how big they are.” The visitor did most of the talking, catching Robbie up on her life. Robbie politely introduced me, and the woman did make eye contact with me a few times, but I soon grew tired of craning my neck to look at someone I didn’t know carrying on a protracted conversation with my lunch guest.
Perhaps it was only five minutes but it seemed like ten. I told Robbie that I considered it bad manners for that woman to interrupt our lunch and monopolize the conversation. Why do people dine with one another? So they can talk and enjoy each other’s company, not the company of someone from another table. I was worried that a steady stream of friends would now come by to pay their respects.
Who invited you?
I told Robbie how my employee used to drive up from Roseburg once in a while, and I always took her to lunch. Twice a friend was leaving the restaurant having just picked up something to go or eaten, and he would drag over a chair, plop down uninvited, and start talking. I wanted to say “What the hell do you think you’re doing? We didn’t invite you to sit down.” But society dictates I overlook the intrusion and pretend he wasn’t being a jerk.
The waitress took our order and then the woman’s mother came to say hello, and she didn’t even acknowledge me. Not a glance, not a word. And Robbie was probably too pressured by knowledge of my irritation to remember to introduce me. Thank the gods, the mother didn’t stay long. But here was this stranger not a foot away, towering over me, oblivious to her violation of my territorial prerogative.
Are you through yet?
Then the waitress delivered our salads and struck up a conversation with Robbie. Turns out the waitress’s mother’s someone-or-other married Robbie’s ex’s something-or-other, and they went into a long conversation of “Who’s your mother?” “Betty” “Oh, your grandmother’s Virginia?” “Yes, my uncle’s…” This went on and on, the full lineage pulled out for inspection. We had been in the restaurant around twenty minutes by this time, and Robbie and I had been unattended for about eight of them.
The waitress, too?
The waitress showed no signs of letting up, so I turned to her and said, “THANK you.” She got the hint and moved off. Robbie assured her, “I’ll come in another time and we’ll get into it some more.” Then we enjoyed our salads and each other’s company.
I can’t imagine carrying on a five-minute conversation standing over a sitting diner who is someone else’s company. I also abhor the sloppy habit of hanging one elbow on the table and shoveling food in with the other hand. It looks so neanderthal, like a starved caveman huddling over his food to protect it from predators. Or shouting on a cell phone because you can’t stand the idea of eating by yourself without having someone to talk to.
Another pet peeve is men wearing hats at the dinner table. Baseball hats rotated backwards, cowboy hats, fedoras. Okay, I’m old fashioned on this one. I realize that. But when an elderly man wears a hat at the table, I have to wonder, “Doesn’t he know better?” I know I’m on the losing side of this one. I’m living in a past age, an age where Fred Astaire and Edward Everett Horton would never dine with a hat on.
A few years ago I treated my brother and his family to dinner at my favorite Chinese restaurant. What a disaster. Slurping soup, chewing with the mouth open, grabbing for food across the table. And when my brother was finished eating he went outside for a cigarette. His son got up to look at the fishtank. The waitress was unprofessional and inefficient, and when I curtly asked the third time for chopsticks, the daughter thought to instruct me on finer ways of communicating. It was like eating with a bunch of monkeys!
So I’ve decided that I’m not going to dine out with friends or family ever again. I’m going to just find an empty seat at an occupied table, sit down, and start talking. But not to worry, I’ll be polite and introduce myself.
What are some restaurant manners that you see lacking or your pet peeves at the dinner table?
{ 5 comments… read them below or add one }
It really bothers me when children are allowed to act like wild animals in restaurants. While they climb under tables, run around the room, help themselves to a buffet and make loud noise, there parents just sit there oblivious to the whole thing. I always taught my children to act with respect and dignity in public and am just totally blown away at this problem that is just rampant in restaurants and any other places that people take their children. I pay am paying for that service and table to sit at and it would be nice if others would respect that and teach their children how to act. http://www.adashofrosemary.wordpress.com
First off, you were in a small town restaruant where everyone knows everyone-for privacy you should have gone to Shari’s in Eugene!
May your move from our community be swift- we, the small town people of Veneta, do not need to have someone such as yourself trying trying to shove your big town ways down our throats.
In addition-not paying your payroll taxes? What kind of business owner are you? And then you have the nerve to whine about it!
So I should drive half an hour for a meal because small town people don’t know how to respect the privacy of others? Is that what you’re saying? That’s certainly an option. But then, what would I blog about? There’s nothing funny about eating at Shari’s.
You have identified yourself in another post as the aunt of the waitress I “blasted” and are commenting here because you’re angry about my criticisms of the narcissistic hairdresser. You have read a few posts and have decided you know everything you need to know about me.
You are correct. For a time I did not pay my payroll taxes. I only had so much money, so I paid my employees and my vendors. I didn’t even pay myself and my house payment got behind. But my employees always got paid.
As business continued to decline and the cash flow diminished, I had to close the business and foreclose on the home. I have since paid most of the payroll taxes and made arrangements to pay the remainder. The IRS and I are in good standing.
But you don’t care about that, right? You’re just looking at anything to find fault with so you can continue judging me and posting your nasty comments.
You obviously know a lot about whining, so I’ll have to take your word for it that I was whining about the payroll taxes.
Actually, I have read your entire blog–and if you believe that trash talking about others is a form of “fun” then I feel really sorry for you. You think your blog about Leslie was funny? Or your dining experience in Veneta-funny? They weren’t–they may have been if you had not mentioned names or the town-but you chose give names and therefore the funny effect was gone.
I didn’t even mention your niece’s name in the above post, but you’re still incensed over it. And Robbie herself thought it was funny enough to pose for the pictures.
Next time, Robbie says she’s going to wear a big sweatshirt with a hood and sunglasses. Several of us got a great big laugh over it. I’m sorry you don’t see the humor in that.
And my response to the situation is just as funny as the rest. Why do you think I posted those goofy pictures of myself looking mortified? I like to make fun of myself, too.
Here’s a deal I’ll make you. You small town people can continue to interrupt my meals and and chat with my companion. You can do my hair, ruin the color, and ignore me for two hours while I sit in your chair. But by the same token, I will continue my obnoxious behavior by writing about your obnoxious behavior. And if you want to feel sorry for me, then knock yourself out.