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We were sitting in the restaurant having a nice dinner, catching up and reminiscing with a friend whose absence has been way too long, and whose son we were just meeting for the first time in person. This is our favorite restaurant; cheap, reasonably good service, all-you-can eat. Part way through our first round of plates, a small group came in and took up residence at a table behind me. Since I had paid little attention, I think the group consisted of at least two women, one baby still of chewing the table age, and at least one male individual (possibly two) who had some major malfunction; I could not tell whether it was of natural origin or was drug induced.
The wife and I sat on one side of the table, our friend and her son on the other. As I always do, I was doing a fairly good job of ignoring those people behind me, even when the Malfunctioning One set off on a verbal tirade against the other members of the group. From what I gathered, he very much wanted to go and was insisting the rest of them go also.
Suddenly I hear comments coming from the table behind, which have a different tone and quality, comments obviously directed at our table. Something about "are you staring at my wife" or in the general neighborhood. The son we have met has just turned 19 and is a burly boy. The malfunctioning commenter is much thinner, perhaps 20-something. The son replies with sarcasm, "Yeah, man, that's exactly what's happening. I'm just staring at your whole entire family."
The commenter then gets up from the table and seems to be heading toward the exit, but has turned and seems to have issued some non-verbal challenge (at least I didn't hear one) to the son. He immediately sprang to his feet and headed in that direction, ignoring mom who is saying "No!" to him, and who has headed after her son.
The wife and I are still seated, I quickly considering possibilities. I regretfully arise and head that way, thinking to be of assistance to the son, should he need any, fingering the weapon in my pocket it slices, it dices, makes mole hills outta mountains!. Having long since passed the stage of instant, testosterone-powered response to calculated defensive strategy, I was visualizing many variations of the possibly Freddy Krueger-esque displays which may shortly begin. By the time I was halfway to the exit, a small crowd of befuddled spectators, unaware of what they were spectating, and holding partially filled plates from the buffet line; it's new Colosseum rules, folks, no seating, buffet and a la carte dining as the fights begin! had accumulated; a group of bovine grazers, blankly observing Something Different.
I never made it to the exit. Before I got through the herd, the son was returning. Apparently a couple of cops had been dining nearer the exit and had observed a possible Perpetration of Nastiness in Progress and had intervened. They had told the two would-be gladiators that either one of them was leaving the premises, or they were both being escorted to the pokey. The son described the feeling of the cop who had taken hold of his arm as "kinda like getting your arm caught between the car bumper and the garage wall".
Confusion ensued. The herd had begun to dissolve, wandering (some dejectedly) back to their grazing areas. The friend had gone to the check out and paid for her and her son's meal. Being unaware of this, the wife and I had left payment for the lot of us on the table with the check please! The waitress found it and came running, saying we had over paid; one of the women with the table chewing baby perched on a hip was also trying to pay her bill. Apparently the Malfunctioning One functioned well enough to recall his aversion to the pokey and had vamoosed. The poor woman was so disheveled and perturbed she gave the cashier a $50 thinking it was a $20 and we watched that get sorted out amid mumbled apologies from her and the other woman, neither of whom had done nothing wrong as far as I could tell.
With a nod and a smile to the honest cashier and waitress, the wife and I and our friend and her son then went to visit a neighboring store, stopping in the parking lot long enough to smoke cigarettes and rehash the event, with several potentially different outcomes, as humans are oddly want to do. After an hour or so of window shopping (no windows purchased; only a $2 quart of oil for us) we exchanged hugs and other pleasantries, with promises to not allow another two years or so to go by before meeting again (each with our own reasons for thinking we may not have another two years).
Although I love my friends and am genuinely glad to see them and share a few laughs, good food, etc., floor shows optional I find I must go through a period of decompression afterward to avoid a version of psychic "bends" from excessive exposure to flesh and blood persons, as opposed to the push-button friends of cyberspace. Not all humans are "social creatures".
In recovery...
TRB
