Burgers and Bohemians
Posted: Sun Oct 23, 2022 6:14 am
This story has no point, so don't wade in expecting one.
My wife and I went to a local burger joint for lunch yesterday. It's not the fastest place, especially during lunch. It takes them about 10 minutes to grill and make your burgers.
A few minutes after ordering, a weird-ass lady and her man friend entered the restaurant. I would describe her dress as "Bohemian" ... flowy skirt, white shirt, long salt and pepper hair that might have been brushed yesterday. Skinny, mid-50s, and very flowy. Her man friend was a few years older, maybe 60. Slightly overweight with little hair, t-shirt, and jeans.
Upon entering the restaurant they approach another couple that they know and talk for a minute or two before making their way to the front counter to place their order. Once there, the lady begins discussing with the owner how she used to eat at this same local chain in another town when she was a kid. I am sitting 20 feet away from the front counter and can unfortunately hear every word.
After ordering, the couple snake in and around every table and I say to Susan (in a normal speaking voice) "please don't let them sit next to us." They don't, but in this restaurant with 20 tables, there is no table far enough away. There are three rows of tables; they end up against one wall and we're on the other. It's the best I could hope for.
I quickly realize that they did not know the people they were previously talking to. They (mostly her) are "those" people, just floating through spaces and striking up conversations with random people. Normal people would sit down and wait for their food, but this lady is up looking at all the shit hanging on the walls. There are some framed pictures of graduation classes -- I don't know why -- and she is up and looking at every person in the photo and commenting on them. "Oh, look at HIS hair! Oh, why didn't HE smile?" There was an old UCB skit where Amy Poehler walked around a coffee shop with a diary accusing everyone of trying to see her diary (they weren't) until she decides to start reading from it. Every time this lady says something she looks around the restaurant hoping someone will acknowledge her. The only person giving her any feedback at all is the lump that came in with her.
Suddenly, she announce "this is my JAM" as a song comes on the radio and soon she is dancing around while shuffling her feet. The bottom of her sandals sliding across the tile floor sound like sandpaper. Then she starts singing along with her jam. "867=530-niiiiyeeeeeiiiiiineee..." Fucking kill me. When that doesn't get anyone's attention, she gives up and heads my way. I am sitting at the table in the corner with about 2' between me and the trash bin. Soon, she's squeezed between that gap and is standing in the 3'x3' area in the corner, looking at pictures. "Oh, is this a picture of him with Elvis?" she says of some black and white photo. I don't even turn around. After a long and uncomfortable 30 seconds, she moves along.
We decide it's no coincidence she and her man have positioned themselves next to the drink counter. I run out of Diet Coke quickly and decide a free refill is not worth a chance engagement.
We were almost finished eating when "Brown Eyed Girl" comes on the radio and she changes her mind. "This is my JAM!" she says and stands up again. With most of my burger down, we decide to hit the road before the next performance begins. Standing next to the exit is a large black man who looks like a drug dealer's bouncer. Dude's big, with dreads and sunglasses. As I walk past him I mutter,, "white bitches, man." The guy cracks a smile, but only briefly.
As we leave another customer is leaving as well. I didn't see him at first and almost let the door hit him before jerking back and grabbing it. "I didn't see, man," I offer. "No problem," says the guy as we walk side by side in the parking lot. "I was just trying to get out of there before that lady started singing again." THAT gets him, and the three of us share a release of laughter before entering our cars.
My wife and I went to a local burger joint for lunch yesterday. It's not the fastest place, especially during lunch. It takes them about 10 minutes to grill and make your burgers.
A few minutes after ordering, a weird-ass lady and her man friend entered the restaurant. I would describe her dress as "Bohemian" ... flowy skirt, white shirt, long salt and pepper hair that might have been brushed yesterday. Skinny, mid-50s, and very flowy. Her man friend was a few years older, maybe 60. Slightly overweight with little hair, t-shirt, and jeans.
Upon entering the restaurant they approach another couple that they know and talk for a minute or two before making their way to the front counter to place their order. Once there, the lady begins discussing with the owner how she used to eat at this same local chain in another town when she was a kid. I am sitting 20 feet away from the front counter and can unfortunately hear every word.
After ordering, the couple snake in and around every table and I say to Susan (in a normal speaking voice) "please don't let them sit next to us." They don't, but in this restaurant with 20 tables, there is no table far enough away. There are three rows of tables; they end up against one wall and we're on the other. It's the best I could hope for.
I quickly realize that they did not know the people they were previously talking to. They (mostly her) are "those" people, just floating through spaces and striking up conversations with random people. Normal people would sit down and wait for their food, but this lady is up looking at all the shit hanging on the walls. There are some framed pictures of graduation classes -- I don't know why -- and she is up and looking at every person in the photo and commenting on them. "Oh, look at HIS hair! Oh, why didn't HE smile?" There was an old UCB skit where Amy Poehler walked around a coffee shop with a diary accusing everyone of trying to see her diary (they weren't) until she decides to start reading from it. Every time this lady says something she looks around the restaurant hoping someone will acknowledge her. The only person giving her any feedback at all is the lump that came in with her.
Suddenly, she announce "this is my JAM" as a song comes on the radio and soon she is dancing around while shuffling her feet. The bottom of her sandals sliding across the tile floor sound like sandpaper. Then she starts singing along with her jam. "867=530-niiiiyeeeeeiiiiiineee..." Fucking kill me. When that doesn't get anyone's attention, she gives up and heads my way. I am sitting at the table in the corner with about 2' between me and the trash bin. Soon, she's squeezed between that gap and is standing in the 3'x3' area in the corner, looking at pictures. "Oh, is this a picture of him with Elvis?" she says of some black and white photo. I don't even turn around. After a long and uncomfortable 30 seconds, she moves along.
We decide it's no coincidence she and her man have positioned themselves next to the drink counter. I run out of Diet Coke quickly and decide a free refill is not worth a chance engagement.
We were almost finished eating when "Brown Eyed Girl" comes on the radio and she changes her mind. "This is my JAM!" she says and stands up again. With most of my burger down, we decide to hit the road before the next performance begins. Standing next to the exit is a large black man who looks like a drug dealer's bouncer. Dude's big, with dreads and sunglasses. As I walk past him I mutter,, "white bitches, man." The guy cracks a smile, but only briefly.
As we leave another customer is leaving as well. I didn't see him at first and almost let the door hit him before jerking back and grabbing it. "I didn't see, man," I offer. "No problem," says the guy as we walk side by side in the parking lot. "I was just trying to get out of there before that lady started singing again." THAT gets him, and the three of us share a release of laughter before entering our cars.