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.
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.
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.
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?
Scene: At the table across from me is a lady in her early 30s and several nicely dressed old men (80+). They appear to have some kind of professional relationship.
[did not hear what led up to this admission – thankfully, I think]
Lady: Oh, no, I don’t interact with Mexicans.
Man A: Really?
Lady: No, never. Not at all.
Man A: What about in Mexican restaurants?
Lady: Actually, they aren’t usually even Mexican in Mexican restaurants. They’re some other kind of South American.
Man B: Uh… that is true, they aren’t always Mexican.
[awkward silence from the rest of the table]
Later in the meal, the young lady makes some comment about “Orientals”
Man who has to be at least 90: YOU CAN’T SAY THAT WORD ANYMORE.
Thank you for the lesson on social appropriateness, man who is old enough to have owned slaves.
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.
There is a lady on the other side of the dining room eating lunch with a few of her friends. An Aretha song comes on the radio and she instantly jumps up out of her chair and, at the literal top of her lungs, starts belting out the song along with Ms Franklin. Her friends simultaneously shout “NOOOOO” in horror and dive on her to pull her back in her chair. She is quiet for awhile until the chorus comes on, then she immediately jumps back up again and sings along at full volume. Her friends are screaming and mortified, “people are trying to eat here.”
I wanted to tell her to ignore her friends and sing wherever she damn well pleases but probably the other patrons might not have appreciated that.
10/10 best probably-drunk lady I have eaten in proximity to