Friday, January 23, 2009

Manners: The dying human attribute

Restaurant Rage

OK, this is a restaurant rage rant... so if you're not in the mood to read my version of a little writer's therapy, you might want to skip this post.

The freak show family (also known as "the douche bags" to my fellow coworkers). Normally, there is fight over who is going to wait on them as we see them approaching through the large restaurant windows. Luckily tonight, I'm on the host stand again. I won't have to wait on them. The idiot father, the needy/annoying wife (who we recently decided is actually a bigger idiot than the husband... seeing as she said 'Yes' when he asked for her hand in marriage, and then also proceed to spawn his demon offspring), two male kids completely devoid of manners, and the newest infant minion.

I know, I know... don't attack the kids right? It's not their fault that they have idiot parents. They can't help it, right? Well folks, unfortunately for this ankle-biters, it's a lost cause. These mini criminals are beyond the point of no return.

Enter Family De Freak show.

Me: "Hey guys... how are you?'

Him: "Hey, did you guys find my (insert article of lost clothing)?" he was just here the night before... he's ALWAYS HERE!

Me: "Haven't seen it. We'll put it aside for you if find it."

Him: "OK... well, I'd better not catch you wearing it."

Me: "...." (so many things I want to say)

Him: "Can we sit where we can see the T..."

Mannerless interrupting child: "I WANT TO WATCH THE X-GAMES!"

I hold my breath. I know already it's outburst night. We're going to have a whole night of unruly , rude kids... with parents who (a) look the other way, (b) laugh (reinforcing) at the bad behavior, or (c) just ignore the behavior all together. How do I know this? Countless nights of the past have validated this prediction. It's like dark clouds, and that smell in the air before it rains.... you just know it's coming.

Ten minutes after we seat them, the father comes up to host stand... again bugging us about the TV. The kids aren't happy. They are yelling, bothering other customers, and generally are being obnoxious.

The father returns to his self created hell... the hell that he is completely oblivious to. I hear one of the manner challenged kids let out a shierk. I turn to view the table. Just then a french fry goes flying across 4 tables and hits another man dining. He turns around to look for the origin of the flying edible projectile. No sorry from the parents, no scolding of the child.... but rather, two arms raised by the father to mimic the NFL's official's universal confirmation of a successful field goal. The victim of the fry, kind of laughs along... but I'll assume he was about as completely unimpressed as we were.

Another 45 minutes of them reminding us that the X-games are coming on. Finally, the time arrives... the X-games start. They watch in bliss for about two to three minutes. They then pack up, and leave. My coworkers and I look at one another. We exchange glances ranging from completely puzzled to violent anger. "Why did they bug us that whole time about a show they were going to watch for a minute and a half?" one asks. "Because it's them," another answers. The server comes over, and watches as they pass the big windows. He tells us about the kids getting worse every time he waits on them, and about tonight's debacle.

Coworker: "Working here seriously makes me lose faith in the human race."

Me: (I watch bamboozled as they are obscured by the window frame) "Manners: The dying human attribute."

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