Sunday, May 02, 2004
I’m not a fucking prude … or AM I!? …
At the very least -- and Kaffy confirmed this to be true -- I think I'm becoming my father.
So, Mother and I are sitting in Red Robin for dinner yesterday (a Colorado burger chain known for big burgers and unlimited fries that made its way into NWI; horribly overpriced, but all right for a change, although their 5-alarm Burger will NEVER touch Ed Debevic's Atomic Burger, EVER). If you've never been, the restaurant is constructed so that there's no privacy between booths, and if you play it right, you can hear what's going on next to you. The place is also staffed by kids who can't be more than 19 years-old, I'm quite sure, which kinda makes me wonder how any of them serve booze. Anyway, next to our table were three waitresses, either waiting for shift change or taking a break.
I first focus in on our young waifs when I hear the blonde of the group talk about how she's supposed to be at work no less than 15 minutes before shift change, because she's going to be fired. Know the feeling, of course, but whatever. But then, she launches in to how when she was dating this one dude and they got drunk? All they did was fight. This ought to be good, I thought to myself.
Before I launch into what happened next, I need to describe this girl: She was tall, thin but not emaciated (I'm guessing she's a jock, most likely of the basket- and volleyball persuasions) and she had that obnoxiously long blonde hair that all high school juniors have, scrunched up five ways from Sunday in a monster clippy. But her most striking feature? A hawk beak with a bend so severe, extreme ski jumpers would fall to their deaths if they attempted launching off her nose. And so severe that when she started talking -- remember, loudly enough in a crowded restaurant that I could hear her -- about how this same ex was all "pump, pump, squirt" and that he was TOTALLY not "dating material," my first reaction was, "Well, you don't REALLY think he's with you because of your looks, do you!?!? Oh ... well, bless your heart, then."
Now, while it squicks me out to think of my 17 year-old girl cousin being sexually active, I lost mine at 15, so it's not like I'm some sort of blue-haired harpy trapped in a 34 year-old misanthrope with her panties in a wad over the youth of America. That being said, I don't know how many times in my youth I suffered through my dad chastising me over talking loudly in public places, because you never know who's listening and who might take offense to what you're yammering on about. And I KNOW that MOTHER, had SHE heard what this girl was talking about, would've piped in with something blue-haired and harpylike so that they would've heard her and been all "whatEVER." So, what did I do?
I went to the manager and said, "Listen, the food was fine, waitstaff was great. But I have to tell you, you might want to tell your waitstaff that they REALLY need to watch their conversation while they're near customers, because a waitress who was sitting near us started going on about some pretty foul stuff, and while I wasn't necessarily offended, someone else might be, and I would hate to see anyone get fired for being inappropriate." She agreed with me and thanked me.
Later? The time I got the inappropriate conversation in public lesson stuck up my ass.
Oh, whatEVER.
I first focus in on our young waifs when I hear the blonde of the group talk about how she's supposed to be at work no less than 15 minutes before shift change, because she's going to be fired. Know the feeling, of course, but whatever. But then, she launches in to how when she was dating this one dude and they got drunk? All they did was fight. This ought to be good, I thought to myself.
Before I launch into what happened next, I need to describe this girl: She was tall, thin but not emaciated (I'm guessing she's a jock, most likely of the basket- and volleyball persuasions) and she had that obnoxiously long blonde hair that all high school juniors have, scrunched up five ways from Sunday in a monster clippy. But her most striking feature? A hawk beak with a bend so severe, extreme ski jumpers would fall to their deaths if they attempted launching off her nose. And so severe that when she started talking -- remember, loudly enough in a crowded restaurant that I could hear her -- about how this same ex was all "pump, pump, squirt" and that he was TOTALLY not "dating material," my first reaction was, "Well, you don't REALLY think he's with you because of your looks, do you!?!? Oh ... well, bless your heart, then."
Now, while it squicks me out to think of my 17 year-old girl cousin being sexually active, I lost mine at 15, so it's not like I'm some sort of blue-haired harpy trapped in a 34 year-old misanthrope with her panties in a wad over the youth of America. That being said, I don't know how many times in my youth I suffered through my dad chastising me over talking loudly in public places, because you never know who's listening and who might take offense to what you're yammering on about. And I KNOW that MOTHER, had SHE heard what this girl was talking about, would've piped in with something blue-haired and harpylike so that they would've heard her and been all "whatEVER." So, what did I do?
I went to the manager and said, "Listen, the food was fine, waitstaff was great. But I have to tell you, you might want to tell your waitstaff that they REALLY need to watch their conversation while they're near customers, because a waitress who was sitting near us started going on about some pretty foul stuff, and while I wasn't necessarily offended, someone else might be, and I would hate to see anyone get fired for being inappropriate." She agreed with me and thanked me.
Later? The time I got the inappropriate conversation in public lesson stuck up my ass.
Oh, whatEVER.
