When the Snowball Finally Rolled Outside

I listened last night to the sound of a snow ball rolling and swelling, and it wasn't pretty. We had gone out to dinner -- something we haven't done since Lori's surgery in December -- and it was fun to go out on a date after these several weeks of convalescence. It was also something of a "pre-launch" party as Lori prepares to return to work on Monday. We had taken a risk, stepping into a popular downtown restaurant without reservations; but we weren't in a hurry, and were prepared to enjoy the evening however the timing worked out. We were, after all, on a date and the food wasn't the main event. I'll admit, though, to swallowing hard when we were initially told it would be an hour-and-a-half wait. To our delight, though, one of the "casual tables" in the bar area suddenly became available and we were happily shown to our seats.

It is, in some ways, an odd little area -- an enclave of five small, slightly elevated tables set off just to the side of the bar area like a gallery over looking the rest of the restaurant. We loved it -- secluded, and yet with a delightful view of the culinary hub-bub.

We had hardly been seated and had our water glasses poured when a young woman asked if we would be willing to move to a regular table in the main part of the restaurant. For all I knew, she was one of the waitstaff -- or even the hostess, since I hadn't paid too much attention at the front desk -- until she went on to explain that she and the others in her group were wanting to have a party and they weren't being allowed to do so except in the bar area. Frankly, her story makes no more sense to me this morning than it did last night, but it didn't matter at the time. We were simply interested in a table and dinner, and replied that we were agreeable. She bustled off to work out the arrangements, while her cohorts convened around the empty table beside us.

I never really understood what transpired, except to note that we never moved. Apparently the relocation was not approved. All I know is that the next half-hour was spent at the table beside us in spiraling displeasure. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, and most of what was said got taken up into the clatter and and clang of restaurant activity, but everything I did hear was negative.

"Bad business practice."
"We could just go somewhere else."
"You would think..."
"They said..." (presumably quoting the hostess)
"He said..." (presumably quoting the manager)
"AXuQaFFebnZ!!!!!" (you get the idea)

Each spoken in increasingly derisive, more condemning tones. Whatever the group had gotten together to enjoy -- presumably each others company at the very least -- got lost in the intensifying virus of discontent. Nothing else seemed to matter beside getting their way and noting the establishment's procedural flaws when it came to customer service.

And still the snowball grew. Haiti may be crumbling, the economy may be coughing, H1N1 may be infecting, and terrorists may be exploding, but never mind. "We want to have our party!" "We have a right to have out party!" "This mean old restaurant won't let us have our party!"

Mercifully, the "party" finally left, though I don't know how toxicity that had grown to those dimensions managed to squeeze back through the door. It had been a study in escalation -- disappointment turning into irritation, which became aggravation, then fixation, denigration, and finally the "righteous indignation" of "taking our business elsewhere."

No restaurant ever likes to lose business -- especially in this economy -- and certainly none want to leave a bad taste of any kind in someone's mouth. But I can't imagine that this restaurant, on this night, was sad to see this group leave.

I can only speak for those seated at the table nearby, and I will simply note that the air, from that very instant, got somehow clearer, and the taste of every bite, from that moment forward, improved. It was positively wonderful, in fact -- the food, the setting, the clattering restaurant din and all. As a matter of fact, it suddenly became...

...a party.