I decided to visit our favorite Chinese restaurant yesterday, taking all
three daughter-units with me. We're "regulars," and they recognize me
through my daughter-units. This "special" treatment/recognition is one
of the reasons we keep coming back. Yesterday, though, has made me
rethink this patronage.
We walked in during the peak lunchtime, but due to a high in
daughter-unit recognition, we got a table immediately. (I now wish we'd
been forced to wait with the remaining crowd.) The owner, the Matron of
that particular family-owned business, greeted the d-u's like they were
her own dear granddaughters and seated us towards the back at one of the
tables for eight. This was more table than any of us needed but it had
the advantage of blocking Spawn in against the wall, so I didn't balk. I
thanked her and got Daughter-units Alpha and Beta seated, while Spawn
climbed up to the chair of my liking. That's when the first Tsunami hit
us.
The high-pitched squeal stopped the clattering-mumbling-rumbling
lunch-rush symphony more surely
than the Cone-of-Silence. The restaurant, every table filled, turned as
one and looked back towards the noise. A stout young fellow, no more
than 2, STANDING ON THE TABLE trying to jump up and down, was the focus
of a group of fifteen. (I later learned they were "celebrating his
second" birthday.) His I-must-be-the-center-of-attention bugle-call was
met by his tablemates with giggles and laughs.
My daughter-units were all staring; Spawn was particularly fascinated. I
groaned. This was going to be a LONG lunch - probably punctuated by
short bursts of screeching followed by extended voids of silence. The
Bugler was not the only child present, though. He was also accompanied
the Demolisher, the Puller, the Kicker, and the Mommy-yeller. All adults
(I use this term to describe their physical appearance, not their mental
facilities) were either engaging in a running dialogue -- at full
volume -- or laughing and pointing at the Bugler. I felt the beginnings
of a Stage 3 Migraine descending down upon me.
I reminded my three where we were and what I expected. There were no
protests. There were no last
longing looks at the table. Daughter-unit Beta only smiled and answered,
"Yes, Dad."
The daughter-units are very opinionated when it comes to what they will
and will not eat at this restaurant: Sesame Chicken, steamed rice, the
[House] Chow Fun, and hot-and-sour soup. Most of these items can be
found among the luncheon menu, so that made ordering for them that much
easier. Since this is also a time I might experiment, I chose to do so
(Hunan Squid!) We looked around for a waiter and were rewarded by Mr.
Personality doing his impersonation of the Zombie Shuffle over to our
table. (He's one of the most efficient waiters I've ever been served by
but he has a permanent scowl that he puckers his face into. He's rarely
said a word, either, no matter how one might try and engage him.)
The Bugler squealed again.
The physical pain caused by this kid's bursts of sound would make a
Memorex ad! Mr. Personality
physically winced like someone cracked a bull whip off his back. His
normal soured puss scrunched down like he'd just been force-fed alum. I
started to place our order but noticed he wasn't writing anything. I
wasn't competing with that other table effectively enough so I raised my
voice. (Those public speaking courses I took during college actually
come in handy! Who'da thunk it?) Mr. P scratched down our order and ZS'd
towards the kitchen, past that other table. Mommy-Dearest #1 turned in
her chair as he shuffled past and said something to him. He didn't even
stop to acknowledge her. MD#1 got up and followed him into the back. [In
all my years of restaurant work, I'd only seen this a couple times...
And it still surprises me.]
The Demolisher took this momentary lull to introduce himself to our
table. One of the Chevron Cars® flew under Daughter-unit Alpha's chair
and into my foot. I was a little surprised but not annoyed. The third
time annoyed me. The Demolisher was into Smash-Bang-Crash'em-Up, and
upon retrieving the car the first time from us, decided that I was his
new game. I reached under the table and (like most restaurants
everywhere) was not surprised at the level of uncleanness. I picked up
the CC® and handed it back to Demo. He yanked it from my hands and
trotted back out of reach like a striking cobra. My d-u's noticed the
signs of a bad thunderstorm forming and took evasive action.
Mr. P returned with the soup and actually managed a smile - think
Wednesday's smile in "The Addams Family" ("Make her stop! It's scaring
us!"😉 -- and shuffled past that other table again. MD#2 stopped her
yakking and followed Mr. P into the back (yet again.) A CC® streaked
under our table again. The sudden stop of the car by the table's stand
sent a shiver throughout the top; soup quaked. I reached down as Demo
was reaching under the table and got the CC® before he could.
"Please don't throw this under there again. It's very dirty under
there." (Reason: I always try to reason first.)
There was no thank you (again) but this time I was prepared and as his
hand tried to [censored] the car, I held onto it with a little more force
than was necessary. "Understand?" Our eyes met. He nodded quickly. Too
quickly.
Our introduction to the remaining troupe of players (the Puller, the
Kicker, and the Mommy-yeller) came indirectly. The three were running
circles around that other table when the Kicker (leading the trio) had
her hair pulled (by the Puller), effectively reining her in. She turned
while her hair was still held firmly by the Puller, and delivered one of
the most stunning front kicks I'd ever seen. The Puller dropped and
squirmed on the floor, clearly winded. Conversations abruptly halted at
that other table and the adults just looked. The Mommy-yeller took
advantage of the quiet to tattle and would not stop tattling for the
next few minutes. Daddy-Dearest (the only one) came over and picked up
the Puller and motioned for the Kicker to sit down. Conversation at that
other table resumed like nothing had happened.
The Bugler trumpeted again. D-uB clapped her ears. In a voice that only
the young can manage, she piped, "He's loud! Why is he so loud? He hurts
my ears!" This was not lost on that other table. The bugler was pulled
down from the table and onto an adult seat (rather than a high chair).
<groan>
D-uA yelped. The Demolisher had returned. One of his CC® had "crashed"
[into her shin]. That was too much. I reached down, grabbed both CC® and
the Demolisher and brought him over to that other table. DD stood up and
conversation stopped (everywhere.)
"If he comes over to my table again, I will spank him." I set the CC® on
the table and push Demo towards DD. "I don't want him anywhere near my
table. Is that perfectly clear?" I looked over the crowd that carped
back. No one said anything. "Don't make me carry that threat out." I
turned and walked back to my table.
Mr. Personality delivered our meals, but I'd long since lost any
appetite I might've had. My daughter-units, though, were enjoying their
repast like it was their last meal. I sat there and nibbled away and
finally managed to force myself into scarfing my meal down without any
enjoyment.
During this reduced noise period, the Demolisher had moved to another
portion of the floor (by two other large group tables). These were
occupied by business people on their lunch hours. The Demolisher chose
(unwisely again) to sling one of his CC®'s under the nearest. It was
occupied by someone that was more annoyed than me and as the CC® bounced
back -- and under his feet -- he stepped on it. He looked over at that
other table and then down at the Demolisher. "I'm not a parent but if I
were, I'd want my kids to behave in public. If I were my grandparents,
this car would now be mine. If this car -- and child -- comes back over
here one more time, he won't enjoy his experience."
MD#3 whined for the Demolisher to come back to that other table.
Feeling that staying any longer would add nothing but an increased level
of indigestion, I signaled over to Mr. P. He knew that we were leaving
and picked up our dishes and efficiently managed to box them to go. As
we stood, the gentleman that had issued Demolisher's second warning
stopped their table's conversation and called over to us.
"I wanted to congratulate you on how well your daughters behaved.
Especially that young one. There are too many that ignored the fine
lesson they presented today."
Daughter-unit Alpha -- without prompting -- thanked him. (I did, too,
not wanting to be bested by my daughter-unit. <G>😉
As we left, the Matron apologized for our experience and hoped to see us
again. I didn't commit.
The Ranger