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Category: Obnoxious

¿Que?

¿Que?

I’m at my favourite local Mexican restaurant, a little family owned hole-in-the-wall.  Perhaps it goes without saying, but the entire staff is latino and spanish-speaking.

Yet here I am, sitting next to a middle-aged white woman who is intent on translating the components of her order to the server.  She clarifies she wants “carnitas, which is pork” to the waitress no less than three times throughout the order.  She also wants “salsa verde; that’s the green one.”  Luckily, she drew the line at explaining what a chile relleno was, and spared us all that final potential lesson.

No, it’s the children who are wrong.

No, it’s the children who are wrong.

The young man with the backwards cap and sunglasses in the booth next to me is squatting on his seat while he eats his pizza and chats with his ladyfriend.

He looks like some sort of dudebro gargoyle.

I don’t really have a story or conversation to add to that because I think it’s sufficiently weird on its own.  WHO EATS LIKE THAT IN A RESTAURANT.

I’ll Have a Large Combo With Some Lovin’ on the Side

I’ll Have a Large Combo With Some Lovin’ on the Side

The scene is a fast food restaurant. There is a couple, probably in their late 20s/early 30s, sitting across from each other at a little two-top table.

They keep standing up to give each other kisses across the table. I am there for about 20 minutes and see it at least three times.

I GET IT. YOU LOVE EACH OTHER.  BUT THIS IS WEIRD.

Just sit down and use that mouth for shoveling in your burger and fries.

No, Cannot Has Cheezburger

No, Cannot Has Cheezburger

Scene: a man eating solo at a generic chinese restaurant restaurant.

The man orders a mango iced tea.

The server says sorry, they don’t have mango iced tea.

The man asks for a raspberry iced tea.

The server says they don’t have any fruit teas, and begins listing beverage selection.

The man wants sweet tea.

The server says they don’t have any kind of tea but regular black tea.  She returns to listing drinks.

The man then requests strawberry juice.       [editor’s note: ?!?!is this a thing?!?!]

Amazingly, the waiter is able to offer him some sort of strawberryish drink from the bar menu, made virgin.

The man then starts ordering food that is not on the menu.  Really, really, not on the menu.  He goes through four or five different “orders” (turkey sandwich?  pizza?  cheeseburger? ) with escalating frustration before he finally starts looking at the menu to see the kind of food that actually is available.  He orders the lunch special.  It is dinner time.  Finally, he gives up and just asks for broth.  He wants nothing in his broth, except maybe some white rice.  Luckily, the kitchen can accommodate this and he is finally content.

I hope he enjoyed his dinner of beef broth and strawberry juice.

Mrs. Butterpurse

Mrs. Butterpurse

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Scene: two older ladies at a table.

One is telling the other about the time she got in a physical altercation with a waitress at a Waffle House because the server mistakenly said the syrup was real maple syrup but — plot twist — it wasn’t.  She kept harping about how dumb the server was for thinking it was real maple, as if that made it obvious why the girl needed to be attacked over her mistaken categorization of a breakfast condiment.  Her voice was full of pride as she recanted this tale.

She then produced a stick of butter out of her purse and explained that’s why she always packs her own butter and syrup when she goes out to eat, because restaurants usually only have margarine and fake maple.

I’m not sure what is weirder: the Waffle House fisticuffs or the purse butter.  Also, it wasn’t even breakfast.

No, baby, it’s disgusting.

No, baby, it’s disgusting.

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Scene: A lady and two guys at lunch.  One guy appears to be her friend, the other seems to be the partner of the other man, and mostly chews silently.  He must not like the lady.  I know I don’t.  Aside from the awful racist, she is possibly one of the most obnoxious people I’ve ever had the “pleasure” of eating beside.

From the very start, the lady addresses her server as “Baby” and keeps touching his arm.  After he takes her drink order, she begins asking him a bunch of very personal questions.  She is probably the same age as his mother.  He appears mildly uncomfortable but answers the questions politely.  She continues to exclusively call him “Baby” throughout the entire meal.

So, already I kinda hate her.

Her friend at the table orders some kind of cocktail.  When it arrives, she asks if she can try it.  Her friend says sure and passes her the glass.

Lady: Oh, that is disgusting.  All you can taste is the alcohol!  You actually like this?
Friend: Yes, this is what I usually get.
Lady: You like it though?
Friend: …yes.
Lady: It’s disgusting, all you can taste is the alcohol.
[server walks up]
Server: Is the drink not okay?
Friend: It is great, thank you.
Lady:  No, it’s disgusting!  All you can taste is the alcohol.
Server: I’m very sorry!  Uh… I can bring you an extra cup of the mixer to add to it to dilute it a bit if you’d like?
Lady: Yes, please do.
Friend: No, really it’s fine.
Lady:  You really like it like that?
Friend: Yes, it’s good.
Server: I’m happy to if you’d like.
Friend: No, please, it is good.
Lady: [incredulous] You really like it like that?
Server: Okay, well let me know if you change your mind.
Lady: [insistent] It’s disgusting.
Friend: It’s really fine.
[after server leaves]
Lady: You really like it like that?

I hope she runs

I hope she runs

I just spent my entire 30 minute lunch listening to this man describe in excruciating detail his clerical/customer service job, down to a play-by-play of the morning including precisely how many emails he got, what he talked about on the phone with so-and-so, how frustrated Wendy was with her spreadsheet…. every. single. minutiae.  He keeps saying “funny story” and adding something equally boring.  He hasn’t paused talking long enough for the woman he’s eating lunch with to say a single thing the entire time.

I am not sure if I hate him because he’s awful or because he’s basically me.  I feel so bad for her.

And then the kicker, as I’m gathering up my things to leave, he asks her a question that reveals that this lunch is a job interview.  For her.  He is interviewing her.

 

I am vegan but I don’t know what that means.

I am vegan but I don’t know what that means.

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Scene: Two friends out at lunch at an asian restaurant

Lady A:  I don’t remember – are you vegan or vegetarian?

“Vegan” Lady: I’m vegan.

Lady A: I thought so.  This place has a lot of great vegan and vegetarian stuff. Our whole family is vegetarian so I come here a lot.

“Vegan” Lady: I like to get [whatever entree] except with tofu.

Lady A: Oh, is that vegan?  I am pretty sure it has egg in it.  It actually might also have dairy, too.

“Vegan” Lady: Well, it is vegan if you get tofu instead of chicken.

Lady A: [sounding confused] Yeah, I know you can get it made vegetarian since I’ve ordered it before, I just wasn’t sure about vegan.

“Vegan” Lady: Tofu is vegan.

Lady A: Yeah, uh, but… yeah, see here?  The menu says it has eggs in it.  So it wouldn’t be vegan for you.  Hm, how about we get [another entree] instead?

“Vegan” Lady: No no, [first entree] with tofu instead of chicken is good.  It’s vegan if we get tofu.

Lady A: [awkwardly] uhm… okay… then….  We’ll just get that.