power plays

he was very old and walked slowly with a cane. his son lagged behind, like a beaten dog.

"would you prefer a table or a booth?" "i'll decide that, thank you very much." i'm thinking, "ok, yeah, i just offered you that exact option. so tout de suite, grumpypants." he heads towards a booth. great, fine, i start clearing the extra settings.

he gets up. "no, this one is no good," and starts heading elsewhere. the son and i just follow. he pauses, turns, surveys the dining room and switches direction. he picks a new, third booth and sits. i crack wise and he kinda laughs. the son is mortified, but we both know this ritual has a tacit agreement. i walk away with the extra settings. when i'm returning, he is UP AGAIN! fucking goldilocks trapped inside an 80-year-old man.

"sir, you can have any empty table in this restaurant. however, i'd appreciate it if you would choose one now for your meal."

he grabs my forearm. i feel the rage start to well. why do they always think they can touch me?

"let me tell you something about you hostesses."

"i am not a hostess."

"whatever. you're a girl, and you're seating me. you're a fucking hostess."

"sir, the profanity is not appreciated, please sit down." (they need to check his meds...)

"let me tell you something. back when i was ceo of xxx..." and he launched into "back in the day" how he'd always get the best of them, blah blah, blah. i knew he just wanted to hear himself talk. it's a very wealthy community, so he quite likely had been a powerful man in his prime and now was lonely, lost and listless in retirement, with a fading mind and degrading body. i was not unsympathetic, but his tone was just so... mean. somehow, this story he has doubtlessly told dozens of times, the jist of which is, "you (me, hotoynoodle) are an idiot," winds up with him smiling and asking if he can hug me. UM? WHAT? "uh, maybe after you eat. i prefer hugging after people pay." the son nearly chokes laughing, but i see the old man smolder. he has not gotten his way. "sir, i never hug on the 1st date. please enjoy your meal." and i hightail away. i visit him mid-meal and he's happy as a clam. i stay out of reach.

4 squirming kids and 2 adults. she checks in for her reservation. "great, i have a very nice round table up front for you." "i won't sit in there. i want a table in the back." the kids are crawling and climbing, one of them bouncing himself trampoline-style on a lobby chair.

"unfortunately, i have no tables for 6 in the back. it's full, and this table is very nice."

"it's cold in there."

"i assure you, it's not."

"i don't like it. i want another table."

"there are NO other tables for 6."

"i'll wait."

i think, ok, you will wait, but what about those 4 little kids and your mute castrated husband? it's already 7:30. shouldn't it be bath-time at the shapiro house? i prevaricate. "it will be at least 45 minutes for another table."

finally her husband coaxes her forward. all the while she is muttering how "it better not be cold, if it's cold, it will ruin my meal, it better not be cold, i'm always cold." (yeah, i bet.)

the father asks the boy where he would like to sit. "where it's warm. i hate eating when i'm cold." torch passed.

this happens many times a day. countless times a week. as long as i have been at this, i don't "get" the petty power play. it's fucking dinner, that's all. it's not a corporate buy-out, it's not leaping the queue at the country club, it's not getting a birkin bag before your neighbor. this is not lunch at nyc's four seasons nor a toyota executives' banquet. just sit the fuck down. you're not cowing me or impressing me. nope. i'm thinking how small and petty is your life, and how glad i am not to be you.

i know they blame others. it's their life, ya know? we all make choices.