To each his own. To me my own.


I feel the need to rant today, because… well I don’t really have any other material. So welcome to Life of Bon – Curmudgeon at Large.

My flowers... had to post... ♥

The boyfriend and I went out for Mexican last night at our favorite little local restaurant. We noticed as soon as we walked in that the place was dead – both inside and outside on the deck. Seeing as how the weather was so very balmy, we decided to dine outside on the huge covered deck.

A sweet little guy brings out the chips, K orders his usual stout mug of beer, and I a nice glass of merlot. The sky is a Carolina blue outside, it’s warm, and the company is beyond excellent. Beer is cold, wine is perfectly tempered, salsa is hot…

Life is good.

Enter couple with two screaming kids, who are ushered out onto the deck and promptly seated at the table directly behind us. Not at another end, not a couple of tables down even, but less than a foot behind me at the very table that backed ours. Before I continue, let me clarify that I DO NOT hate small children. NOR was it these people’s fault that they were seated where they were.

What I AM saying is the restaurant staff should know to insert at least a little space between two different sets of people with totally different scenarios…

Setting One: A couple, obviously not married, no wedding rings; in love nonetheless, once again obvious from their holding hands across the alcoholic beverage-adorned table. From the way the two are gazing at each other, they could quite possibly be the only ones existing within their own little world.

Setting Two: A couple, very obviously married from flash of wedding rings, arguing loudly while walking to their table; she with huge diaper bag over shoulder of one arm, toddler in the other, he with larger kid in tow – all proceeding to light up the entire existence with their extra-amplified voices. Birds outside are scurrying to take flight before the earthquake ensues.

Again, not their fault they were seated where they were seated. We proceed to try and continue enjoying our dinner out, when lo and behold – another thunderous approach. This new “group” has four, count ’em four, kids that resemble stair steps. The one being carried by Daddy is already crying and proceeds to whine and cry the entire dinner. So just where do these kind patrons get seated? This time, how about the table directly beside us.

At this point, nothing would have surprised us. Or so I thought.

Within the next ten minutes (our food hadn’t even arrived yet) two more sets of people with kids were ushered in (or should I say out?) and seated – ALL within the only ‘general vicinity’ that was left around us. We were now completely surrounded. At this point, we’re both feeling as out of place as a hunter might feel onstage at a PETA gathering. It was surely hilarious by this point – but the hilarity of it all was cut short due to a little girl seated at the table directly ahead of us falling backwards out of her chair. Everyone froze after hearing the sound of her head hitting the floor. You know that delayed reaction with kids when they have to *inhale gasp* in order to get their breath before the initial screams escape? Hers lasted about 10 whole seconds. She ended up being okay, and even played it up later by grinning at us as she ‘limped’ off the deck when leaving. (Hey kid, I thought you hit your head?)

Where’s the Tylenol. And Tequila.


6 responses

  1. Sounds like you need to guest post over at PP’d.. 🙂 If there is one thing awesome about my kids – it’s that they know how to behave at a restaurant. Prolly ’cause dad’s in the business. Your flowers are beautiful. 🙂

    October 22, 2010 at 12:26 pm

    • Bonnie

      hehe, I did have a rant today didn’t I? Incidentally, I can honestly tell that about your own family just from reading your posts over the past several months. I know I probably sound like a true curmudgeon… but it actually got pretty hilarious after the first two ‘seatings’. 🙂

      October 22, 2010 at 1:58 pm

  2. What an awful experience… Restaurants often assign servers a certain set of seats. If a server attempts to seat me next to a noisy table, I tell the server I want a quiet place. (Bad me.) I think this “customer request” gets the server off the hook for not seating me according to restaurant policy. I’ve never been told no yet. You were already seated when he surrounded you with families. How unfair. I give you and K a high score for patience.

    October 22, 2010 at 2:48 pm

    • Bonnie

      awww, thanks for the patience vote Carol Ann – and had it stopped at the two bunches, I probably would’ve dwelled on it longer than I should’ve. Being as how they just kept ‘rolling on in’, it did make for a shockingly comical experience. Kinda like the volkswagon where all the clowns keep piling out… oh now I’m bad. 🙂

      October 22, 2010 at 5:08 pm

  3. izziedarling

    That sucks, Bon. Your flowers are lovely; nothing can ruin a dinner faster than crying kids who don’t want to be there, either.

    October 23, 2010 at 6:34 pm

    • Bonnie

      Thanks Izzie! And that’s so true – I’ll bet they would’ve rather been anywhere other than being held hostage on a deck outside while being made to sit still. 🙂

      October 23, 2010 at 10:31 pm

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