Today the Red Sox fan and I went out to lunch. When we got to the restaurant, it was jammed. We waited patiently, and the friendly hostess ultimately said she could seat us at a bar area in the rear of the restaurant.
We walked to the back of the restaurant, she left the menus on the bar counter top, and then she walked back to the front. When the RSF and I pulled out the chairs to sit, the guy in the next seat over said, loudly, “Don’t sit there.”
“You can’t sit there,” he said harshly.
“The hostess gave us these seats,” the Red Sox Fan said, reasonably.
“I don’t care what she did. We’re a party of seven, there are two more of us, and that’s where they’re sitting.”
This presented a choice for the RSF and me. We could get into a public argument with a colossal ass, or practice the fine art of avoidance, swallow our anger at being treated so rudely, and return to the front of the restaurant. We chose the latter course. The hostess wasn’t happy with the jerk, either, and promptly seated us elsewhere — but the whole incident left a bad taste in our mouths.
I don’t mind that the people were saving seats, although they obviously should have told the hostess when she escorted us back and left the menus on the bar. Even so, the guy could at least have been polite about telling us — perhaps by saying something like “Excuse me, I’m sorry, but we are saving those seats for two of our friends” instead of treating us like gutter slime or some hapless peasants trying to sit at the king’s table.
Why are some people such asses? Do some miserable people get their kicks from being unnecessarily rude to complete strangers? I have no desire to sink to that level and trade rudeness for rudeness, but it’s rankling.
Good for you, WB. There is nothing that surpasses good manners. You win, ha!