Each Saturday, The Man and I get together with a group of friends for breakfast. It’s very nice. We get to discuss what’s happened in the preceding week, talk about cultural events, and debate opinions on current news topics. Most often, our Saturday breakfasts are the only way I find out what is going on in the world outside of my family, work, and friends.
We typically move around the city to different restaurants each weekend. We do have our favorite picks that are in the mix regularly. But sometimes a new eating place is introduced, usually by one of the gang who has discovered it on his own. One Saturday morning, we decided to meet in a café that was housed in a shopping district near the nearby private university. Disaster.
Driving into the parking lot, I noticed a large number of what seems to be high-school-aged young ladies all dressed in matching t-shirts, shorts and sneakers. I guessed that they were members of a soccer or lacrosse team. They were accompanied by a man (who was about my age) who I assumed to be their coach. No worries yet.
I parked the truck, and The Man and I entered the restaurant. What?! Counter-service?!! And the 30 or so young ladies were already lined up to order. Holy crap!
We had arrived a little late and all of our friends were already seated, drinking coffee. I flopped down against the wall in the seat and grumbled a “good-morning” to everyone. And then dropped out of the conversation by playing on my phone. Being as accommodating as he always is, The Man asked what I would like to eat. “Whatever. Omelet. Egg, cheese, bacon. Toast.” The rest of the breakfast group just looked at the two of us as if we’d just walked off an alien aircraft. But The Man ordered my food, delivered it to me, and brought me coffee plus refills.
This was the first time that the Saturday Breakfast Group had visited a restaurant without table service. As I explained to them, I am not a morning person. I want someone to bring me coffee in the mornings. I do not want to have to go get it myself. Thank The Man. In the mornings when he knows I’m rousing, he prepares my coffee and puts it on my desk, every morning. Every morning. Yes, ya’ll … I’m spoiled. I know that.
The gang was just amused and a little shocked at my over-reaction. But from that point on, we had an unwritten rule about no establishments without table service because of the Queer/Queen.
Until a couple of weeks ago…
The unofficial “official” leader of the group found a beignet place. He wanted to try it out. Seeing that I am from Louisiana, he asked if I could forego my “no-counter-service” rule. Grudgingly, I agreed. Mistake.
We arrived rather early. 8:30 AM. The restaurant was not very crowded. The breakfast menu was unbelievingly undersized. So I just went and order some beignets and an egg casserole. With the Café-Au-Lait, it was around 12 bucks! Fried dough, baked eggs and coffee with milk! AND I had to serve myself.
I started firing off angry messages on Twitter. And then snidely sharing what I was writing with all of my breakfast mates. Ooo...what a jerk...
After breakfast, The Man went around and hugged everyone. I just waved at the gang and stomped out to the truck.
Of course, I felt bad about it later. So I sent an e-mail to all of my friends who were at breakfast that morning. This is basically what I said.
I would like to apologize to everyone who was at breakfast this morning. Just because I'm a Prima-Donna does not mean that I need to turn into a grump and try to spoil everyone's good time.
I did make the executive decision to not attend breakfast when I know the scheduled establishment does not serve me like the Prince that I apparently believe myself to be.
Each one of them responded with something along the lines of “no big deal … don’t worry about it!” And each one was sincere. I even got “I love you and would miss you if you weren’t at breakfast.” And to push it further, I got “Your little rants amuse me. Don’t change.”
I guess if I needed a definition of friendship, I got it.
I still demand table service for breakfast, DAMMIT.