When a restaurant is promoting the most popular kids’ movie currently showing in theaters, it is safe to say it is a family restaurant. Right? So, when we go on a Sunday morning for a breakfast with our kids, we can expect a family atmosphere.
This didn’t happen last Sunday.
The table behind us had two girls and a guy who had apparently just worked a horrendous night at some other eatery. They had choice words as they compared customers and co-workers.
The f-word is not okay in IHOP, is it?
I looked at the surrounding tables, all of which had kids seated at them. Surely, I was not the only one who could hear the constant barrage of bad words coming from the guy and girls. They weren’t even trying to be quiet. Or considerate.
I thought about saying something. I thought about nicely turning around and simply asking them to tone down the language in front of the kids. But I didn’t. And neither did anyone else.
To be perfectly honest, I was disappointed in myself and all the other parents sitting there. It ruined my French toast and my conversation with my little family as I just could not manage to block the voices out behind me. I should have said something. It was IHOP, for crying out loud!
That’s why, when I was presented with a similar situation only days later, it was more than I could stand.
I was really trying to be on good behavior that day because Kendra had a friend along. I was trying really hard.
When the girls went to the restroom, and Ronnie took Max, I was alone at the table. Sitting next to us were two men chatting it up, rather loudly. And pervertedly. The sexual references and vulgarities were just out there for everyone to hear.
I’m sorry, I don’t mind a conversation about pirate booty, but my four-year-old son does not need to hear about a butt pirate in a bar-b-que restaurant.
At one point, one of the guys even told his friend to cool it a little and quiet down. The goon just laughed it off and continued. Thankfully, when their food arrived, their ribs occupied them enough to shut them up for a while.
I was just itching to say something. I knew we had a friend along. And I knew Ronnie wouldn’t want me to start something that he would likely have to finish.
But, I couldn’t help myself.
When we got up to leave, the guys got up too. And the loudmouth stretched as he got up from the table, clearly showing his fly completely down and open.
I walked by him (thinking this was what people call karma – the perfect opportunity for me to embarrass him, thus getting him back for ruining my fried-green tomato BLT) and said (very loudly), “Your. Fly. Is. Down.”
I walked away, so satisfied with myself.
I didn’t understand why Ronnie was so mad when we got to the truck. And we couldn’t talk because, you know, the friend was along. So we rode home in silence. He was seething.
Finally, after an eternal ride home with my squirming in my seat and shooting him puppy-dog eyes and nudging him apologetically, we got the chance to talk.
“What’s the big deal? I actually helped him! Imagine how embarrassed he would he would have been if he walked around like that all night!”
My husband looked at me. “You didn’t hear what he said to you after that?”
“What?” I asked, a little sheepishly.
“He said, ‘Oh, you noticed!’ I wanted to punch him in the face!” That blood vessel in his forehead was still sticking out a little bit.
Well, that sure explained the angry ride home.
Next time, when the conversation isn’t kid friendly, I think we’ll just move tables. I think we’ll all enjoy our meals more that way.