What is this, the Academy Awards? We drive west Los Angeles Sunday mid-morning looking for a breakfast place that doesn't have a wait and doesn't have nation-wide signage over the door, although scarily enough, those places seem to have the longest waits.
There was a line outside our usual place (location to remain anonymous) so we buzzed the neighborhoods checking out those lined up in other places. Too many kids is the most popular issue and return and write my name on the list at "our place."
Wait. Wait. Wait. Chilly. Wet. Kid alert! Finally a four-top becomes available and the waiter informs us we are welcome to sit, but if a larger party arrives prior to our food being served we would have to move. He says this with a sincere expression.
"We aren't table fillers until a better party comes along!" How unrelaxing is that? Eyeing every new party that arrives, wondering if this is the time we move. Is this the time we stand and let the grown-ups, the real movie stars, those with more power and prestige look at us with their opinionated eyes as we scatter, grabbing our belongings and shuffle off to Buffalo?
The waiter immediately moves on to the next party of two and they agree to take the table. We eye them like the prideless losers they are.
Two places at the counter open up but that's like trying to have a relaxing breakfast in the middle of a loud, busy kitchen run by strangers.
Finally a two-top. We sit and my friend can only obsess about why two lesbians were allowed to sit at an open four-top and we weren't. Why they received special dispensation. "Because they agreed to move!" That's not a difficult one, and his self-flagellation skids to a halt.
But just to show the waiter that we can't be manipulated, my friend declares he'd like to sit at the two-top next to us. He says it's because it is closer to the heater. I don't even see a heater and pick up my purse and move like the dutiful dining companion.
Monday, January 29, 2007
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