Thought that Counts Part II

So we decided to go out for dinner on Valentine's Day. We knew that this would take all evening, because every other couple in the entire universe was going to go to the same restaurant we were going to, but we didn't care. Worst case, we could stand around in the foyer of the restaurant and make out for hours, along with everyone else.

The only problems were 1) I forgot to take a long-stemmed rose to hold in my hand the entire time; 2) I forgot to wear high heels, tons of makeup, and big hair; and 3) I forgot to take an extra snack for when my blood sugar dropped dangerously about three hours into the wait.

Mishaps aside, here are some things I observed while standing around making out in the foyer (after I made DB take me to Bath and Body Works and buy me some lovely lotion to make up for the gross chocolate--see previous post):

The hostesses were very, very nice, and very cheerful, considering. Then there was the guy who went up to the desk and said, very irritated, "Um. Could we PLEASE get our table? We've been waiting like, an hour and half!" That made me laugh. It also made the hostess laugh. In fact, she snorted right in the guy's face, especially when she looked up his name, and informed him that, in fact, he had only been waiting, like, forty minutes, and he'd better get comfortable. She didn't actually say that, but in a much nicer way she let him know that it might be a little longer.

Next guy comes up and says, "Uh, we've been waiting FORTY-FIVE MINutes." I have no response to that, except to wonder if one of your piercings penetrated your brain, dude.

Note: The restaurant we were trying to patronize was not Olive Garden. In fact, there is no Olive Garden in the general vicinity.

Next guy comes up in a huff, hands over his little flashy pager thing, and says, "Here. You can have this back. We're not staying." And walks out. The hostess looks at it, nonplussed, and says, "Uh, sir? This pager is for Olive Garden." But the angry guy had already melted into the crowd. So she just stood there and looked at it for a while.

The older couples probably should not have decided to venture out on this night. Especially the older couple who seemed to have forgotten their oxygen tank in the car, and also had not taken their anxiety medication in a while. They were also quite large. That in itself didn't work out so well in that particular venue, but they insisted on pacing like nervous dogs, while they discussed the possibility of just leaving and going to Sizzler instead. The other customers had to clear a wide path so they could pace, causing them to fall all over the kissing couples behind them. Also, every five minutes the husband would tell his wife how long they had been there.

If you wear your hair really big, people defer to you. Either that, or the seated lady heard me say to Daltonboy, "Oh, look! It's Mary Kay Huntsman!" when the blonde woman in the black and gold Dillard's outfit walked in. I thought I was being discreet, but maybe I wasn't. In any case, the seated older woman offered her section of the bench to Mary Kay, who was out with a gentleman not named John Huntsman, who also had a Dillard's outfit on and was sporting the most horrible dyed strawberry blonde hairdo I have ever seen. I mean, if you're going to cheat on your rich governor husband, ladies, at least pick someone who has a good stylist and doesn't wear his yachting clothes to go out to dinner. The guy looked like Thurston Howell, III.

The aforementioned older woman kept going up to people and asking them, "So. How many hours have you been here?" and then laughing this big, booming laugh. She was quite friendly, and had developed a close personal relationship with every other person in the foyer by the time she was seated. However, when they called her name, she stopped talking, and walked quietly and sort of confusedly over to the hostess, like her whole plan was to spend the evening making new acquaintances with the other waiting people, and never to actually sit down and eat anything.

Some guy named Jason went up to find out what the status was on his table. After all, he'd been waiting. The hostess said, pointing to a name, "You're right after these people." He started shouting, "Dalton?!? You put US after some guy named DALTON?" The hostess blinked, nodded, and looked at him like, "They were here first. What's your point?" And Daltonboy, who was starting to get a little punch drunk, started to cackle maniacally, slapping me on the leg, and saying, "We're next! We're NEXT!" It was a little difficult to avoid the jealous and hateful glares of the other wilted couples as we wound our way through the throng to our table.

Once we were seated:

No utensils. That meant Daltonboy couldn't eat his salad until I wrestled a server to the ground and begged for a fork. The very nice young man, who spent a lot of time sitting at our table with us, asking us how hungry we were, reading the entire menu out loud, and calling us "guys," brought the fork and no one was seriously hurt.

We were fairly close to La Cucina. This meant that we got to listen to the manager standing there bellowing in the manner of a drill sergeant to the cooks, "Listen up! Come on, guys! Move! Move! MOVE!!" I half expected them to drop to the ground and start crawling around on their bellies. If it had been me, and I guess it was, I would have preferred to wait about five more minutes for my food than to listen to that guy yelling.

So, yeah. It really wasn't a bad deal. We're not that into the holiday, and as long as we were out (read: away from the kids), we didn't really care what we were doing, including sitting in a crowded waiting room. But next year, we're going to Sizzler. I heard that's the best place to go on Valentine's Day.