(i.e. "The Five Dumbest People I've Waited on All Month.")
2. Patronizing single dad and his gratingly precocious daughter
In the restaurant world, parents often embody one of two types. They're either endearingly apologetic for bringing their disruptive offspring into public (meaning they tip well), or they're so self-absorbed as to think that serving their obnoxious by-product is a rare privilege.
"Oh isn't that cute! Little Gertrude spilled her 'sippy' all over the booth. Think of her fondly as you clean up after my child. Here's 10%."
One of my least favorite regulars is Mark, a perpetually single father on the prowl. The sideshow of Mark's almost vaudevillian efforts to attract women is his unbearably precocious four-year-old daughter. Picture the most annoying co-star from any episode of "Punky Brewster" or "Silver Spoons," add an eerily intentional resemblance to Shirley Temple, and you've got Mark's daughter.
I've nicknamed her Annabelle, because she looks like someone a greedy parent would prop up at a state fair with a microphone and a bucket just begging for spare change.
When Mark brings in Annabelle, he offers a running commentary on the dining experience for the sake of everyone around.
"Isn't that cute? Annabelle just used her big-girl fork!"
or
"Say, Annabelle, how do you pronounce enchilada again? Geez, listen to her adorable tongue just mangle that word. Isn't that the cutest thing you've witnessed?"
I am inevitably expected to engage in this exploitation as if I'm an extra in a Frank Capra film, just grateful to be a fly on the wall of each precious moment. Mark and Annabelle are, of course, completely unaware of my palpable contempt.
Even if I were to say, "I hope the Hezbollah kidnap your daughter," he would look at me as if I'd exclaimed "I'll take one just like her!"
A few weeks ago, while dealing with my usual dose of the Father/Daughter Tag Team of Terror, Mark brought along a date. To my extreme pleasure, Annabelle did not take kindly to the 22-year-old bleached blonde receptionist.
Though I can't stand the little shit, I respect her clear mastery of manipulating daddy. Throughout the meal, she claimed one ailment after another in a clear effort to ditch Nancy Drew and lay the foundation for years of paternal control.
"Oh angel," Mark pleaded, "Just 10 more minutes and we'll go home. Say, why don't we order the brownie sundae and let you work on that for a bit?!"
Mark made the fatal mistake of offering something that wasn't on the menu. Bright little Annabelle played his bad move like a Stradivarius.
"I DO want a brownie sundae, now! Brownie sundae, BROWNIE sundae, BROWNIE SUNDAE!"
Thus Mark escorted his ladies out of the restaurant to avoid the potential temper tantrum. Little Annabelle skipped to the door, beaming with satisfaction. And a small part of me grew to hate her a little less.
Hey buddy, long time no talk, your blog is hilarious. Make a movie out of this shit!
Posted by: JT | March 13, 2008 at 01:02 PM
Dammit boy you are brilliant! You write like Dave Sedaris. LOVE IT!
Posted by: Keri | March 13, 2008 at 08:50 AM