My wife and I ate out recently. Our waiter ("Jabberin' C") was a talkative fellow with a permanent smile. The restaurant was unusually bare, so we were his only table.
It started with a discussion about napkins. He offered them even before taking our drink orders, and I jokingly said, "The napkins make all the difference." He immediately handed me a friendship bracelet and pledged his life to mine. Awkward.
From that moment on, every time he came by he stayed for an extra couple of uncomfortable moments, and shared tidbits about himself.
"I'm a pizza chef for another place in the mornings." Thank you, but I really only need to know if you're putting lemon wedges in my water.
"I'm having a cookout at my house this weekend!" Uh, nice. Can I get my salad dressing on the side?
"I've never understood British humor." Please, can I just see a desert menu?
"I speak Pig Latin more fluently than English." OK, that one, I believe.
And then it got crazy. A family came in and was nearly seated at the table next to us. The "Mom" refused to sit because her chair was wobbly. It was not a polite refusal.
"THIS! IS! NOT!
GOING! TO! WORK!"
Her entire family collectively face-palmed and sighed, "Oh, here we go again." The hissy-fit was impressive. Moments later, they were led away to a less offensive table. Apparently, no one is willing to sit near me
Jabberin' C stopped by our table to watch the spectacle with us. "My mom is an Aquarius," he helpfully offered. I'm so glad to know these things.
Another family came in and my wife pointed. "Look, they're going to try it again!" Sure enough, they were being led to the wildly dangerous and internationally famous 'wobbly' chair. I lept to my feet. "For the love of God, no!"
The new family sat down with no problems. The chair was sturdy. Jabberin' C was impressed.
"My girlfriend and I have been trying to..." "Whoa! OK, thanks, now it's time for the check."