I don’t pluck my eyebrows, but I used to treat myself to a nice steak meal once in a while at a nearby restaurant. When it opened, I was one of it’s ‘regulars’, as there are a LOT of seasonal patrons who come to southern Florida for just a few months out of the year, then go back home up north. After a few visits the wait staff began to recognize me, and I felt comfortable there.

The last time I was there was like most of the other visits I’d made there: dining alone, reading a magazine or newspaper while I ate. This time it was the latest issue of Smithsonian, and I was enjoying the ambiance and article when the hostess sauntered over to my table. She was probable 60 or 65, and carried herself like Diane Keaton. She had ’smiling eyes’ and cut her hair short.

The conversation went like this:

HOSTESS: What are you reading?
ME: The Smithsonian.
HOSTESS: Ah…
ME: It’s an interesting article about how Kenyans are poaching their animals to the point of extinction…
HOSTESS: That’s not good.
ME: No, it isn’t. There’s a bunch of Westerners who are trying to stop it, but…
HOSTESS: Well, we aren’t anyone to speak, we’ve done much worse ourselves.
ME: The difference is, we learn by our mistakes. Other cultures don’t.

At this point, I can tell that I’ve been corralled into a possibly disagreeable conversation that I had no preparation or desire in which to be. Here I was, minding my own business, eating a $25 steak at a nice restaurant, reading an article when this woman crashed through the entire vibe to bring it down.

But did I shy away from the fight? Oh no. A good soldier can eat his rations with one hand while firing away with the other. Pretty soon I had her so tangled up that she was loud, spitting angry, and stammering:

ME: See, you can’t rightly call President Bush “stupid”, when you can’t even tell me who attacked us in WW II.
HOSTESS: I…I…
ME: You need to watch what you say. Especially if you can’t back up your argument.

At that point, amidst the surrounding tables of patrons who had grown quiet and obviously amazed at this hostess who was flailing her arms and having a temper tantrum, the big cook from the kitchen emerges with an assistant to “check the register” which was only feet away from this scene. While they were at first feigning interest in something to do with the register, the cook makes a point to interrupt the hostess at the high point of her embarrassment, and succeeded in steering her away from my table.

When she was ushered away, the hush and stun in the room was palpable. I sat there alone, in a daze, wondering what had just happened. Soon after, a waitress came over to talk with me, to see if I was upset, I guess. She was nice, and no one asked me to leave or anything, but apparently a moment of high drama had just occured. The waitress told me that the hostess was actually married to the owner–the cook from the back who came out to drag his wife away from the innocent customer.

Then, it began to make sense. This hostess was used to getting her way, and was not some poor, aging, paycheck-to-paycheck waitress. No, she was the owner, directly benefitting from every check I paid there. So, of course, after that surreal episode, I never returned to this familiar eatery again.

BTW, I like the format changes lately, Admin. Makes for more organized reading.

On a side note, today I went to get my hair done and my eyebrows waxed. The eyebrow lady was yapping about the wonders of Obama and “how we all need to get behind him as he is our President”. I said “I am behind our President, but it’s still Bush and I will show the President elect, the same due respect that was shown to the current occupant of the White House”. I almost wasn’t going to give her a larger tip for Christmas but was afraid that next time, she’d drop wax in my eye if I had gone out with my usual “Let Barry help you with your tip”.