As I sat last night in Red Lobster with my mother and my son, we were almost finished when the host showed a group of 6 to the booth behind us. The host stood there with this plastered on smile as they chitter-chattered about who should sit where. The couple at the table directly to my right was almost staring, the man more so than his companion- since her back was to the scene.
After the group got situated at the table, the waiter came to the table for drink orders, and the man to my right was beginning to curl his lip. I was watching and listening to this whole scene with more entertainment than I should have been experiencing on a Friday evening.
I began to watch the body language of the man to my right. And even at one point, our eyes met and at this point his expression seemed to be much more friendly and I felt his search for empathy. What he didn’t know was that internally I was enjoying myself at his expense. I thought to myself, how ironic.
Here in the Red Lobster, this 50-ish year old Caucasian man was seeking an un-spoken camaraderie from me- a late 30’s African American woman. I let this atmosphere continue, on its own, for about 5 more minutes. Lingering conversation in the air, as the people at the booth behind me chatted away, amongst themselves, as they discussed what they would order and other topics of small talk. The man to my right is almost rudely staring at the group in the booth by this time.
Still I sat entertaining myself with watching and listening to the body language of the man to my right. Again, he looked at me as if we were unspoken team mates. By this time, the host came back through to seat another couple, I began to laugh as he seated the couple and ask the gentleman, ‘ is this table ok, Mate?’. The gentleman said that the table was fine, and asked where the host was from. After a simple answer of ‘Australia’ – he walked off to continue his work.
The man to my right was not looking happy at all. I couldn’t help myself. The potential to irritate him more than he already was, became more than I could bear. I could no longer contain myself. I was not going to be able to sit watching this scene simply as a bystander any longer. I could have been good. I could have simply left it all alone, but I just couldn’t help myself.
Playing the situation, I look around at the group behind me with a long obvious turn around to the booth behind me. Then I caught eye of the man to my right, who game me this sheepish smile. I sat for a few more minutes, letting it all linger. I knew what I was going to do. And I knew that it would shift everything in this unspoken tone in this area of the restaurant. I knew that I would be having my own comedic moment. I was, after all, entertaining myself.
When I couldn’t wait anymore, as if seeking out the punch line to a great joke—I finally turned completely around to the booth behind me and said, ‘perdona me, de que pais’? A lady in the group replied ‘Honduras’. I nodded and turned back around with a Cheshire cat smile on my face. As I looked to the man at the table on my right, he was now a nice warm shade of beet red and was intently looking straight ahead, no longer fixed on the people in the booth.
After watching the man sit red faced and not eating his food, my mother and son were finally ready to go. So as we got up, and I walked past the booth, I said, ‘buenos noches’, which was met by several ‘adios’.
I never looked back, but I knew in my heart that this man who was already fuming was probably sick to his stomach not only with distain.
I walked out of the restaurant feeling very Ice Cube – ‘Today was a good day’.
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