It was one of those evenings that instantly became part of the family folklore, and unfortunately, and it was no one's fault but my own, I had the starring role. If I could take it back I would, but alas, what is done is done. So here is the story of what happened at the Indian Restaurant.
We were there to celebrate Matt's brother Scott's birthday. It was a bit belated since his birthday was on the 22nd, but he didn't want to risk damage to his shiny new midnight blue car by venturing out on that ice-filled evening. And who could blame him? His car is hot. And so the family gathered together last Tuesday instead. It was Mom and Dad, all of the brothers, Andrew's girlfriend Kelly, me and the girls. We had a reservation for 10 people.
The Indian Restaraunt is in the U-District and in a building that was probably once a house. When we got there the place was completely packed. When we squeezed in to announce our arrival and ask if we could be seated since the majority of our party was there, the manager, annoyed by our request told us no, and to "Wait outside." Nevermind that it was completely freezing and we had a baby. But we complied and patiently waited, happily gabbing until we were called to be seated. Mom and Dad and Craig still weren't there, but they had called to say that they were just getting off of the freeway.
They took us to a table for "10" that was really a table for 4. We were so close to the other tables that there was no where for me to even set down the car seat to try to find a seat. Everyone had to squeeze and hug the table to not bump the other guests as we were getting settled. With a baby, one of the tricks is always trying to find a place for the car seat that won't disturb others, where you can get in and out in case of messy emergencies or crying fits. It is a complicated process, but one that we are pretty good at and can usually handle quite elegantly. I ran through some possibilities with Matt--"What if I sit there and we put Maryn . . .no, that won't work. Well, what about if we, no, I guess that won't work." Finally, Matt kind of put her halfway under the table and halfway out into the aisle and decided that we would try that. Well that was when one of the servers came buzzing by with a shaky tray full of hot coffee. The Parade of Terribles flashed through my mind and I envisioned the tray of hot coffee upside-down on my baby, and then I refused to let him set her there. And then we were out of options.
Just then the manager passed and I politely asked him if he could assist us in finding a place for our baby. Perhaps a high chair? Is there another arrangement that we could try? I'm a solutions girl. I was open for anything. I would even sit at a different table.
The manager was not willing to help me find a solution. His reply to my inquiry and suggestions was that "No one told me the reservation was for 10 people AND a baby. We would have done it differently. I don't have any more room." He seemed annoyed that I had even bothered him and quickly left, leaving me still standing in the aisle, dodging servers, still with no viable solution for actually having a meal and celebrating Scott's birthday. Right about then, Mom and Dad and Craig arrived and squeezed into the table towards the back. I would also like to point out that my conversation with the manager had been as quiet as possible--you see, at the time I was still trying to be elegant, so no one else really heard his absolute refusal to accommodate me AND my baby. It seems that babies are not welcome at this particular restaurant. No Naan, No Seat!
Then I told Matt I was leaving and I would just go sit in the car because this was ridiculous and I started to put on my coat, but then he convinced me to stay. He agreed with me that it was ridiculous, and wondered aloud what the fire department would say. I felt bad because I didn't want to ruin Scott's birthday by having a bad attitude. But, in order to stay, I had to figure out some way to actually sit down.
So I decided to be stubborn and FORCE the manager to help me. It is not one of my best traits, and I am not particularly proud of it, but I can be royally stubborn at times. I decided that this would be one of those times. It wasn't that I was in a bad mood, because my day had been great. But I felt backed into a corner--literally and figuratively. So I grabbed the chair at the corner of the table and moved it to the head of the table. I put Maryn in the empty spot so that I could protect her from hot coffee. And then I plopped down into the chair.
Now I didn't get a chance to take a picture of the restaurant, but you must understand that by positioning my chair where I had placed it, I had blocked off the main artery of the entire place. I figured that in short order the manager would show up and tell me that I couldn't sit there, and then I would sweetly reply, "Oh, I'm so sorry, what do you suggest that we do?" Then I figured that we would come up with a solution and soon I would be enjoying some curry.
No, instead he called my bluff. The servers kept coming through the 3-inch space with their trays, pushing my chair and knocking me to and fro in order to get through. And when other customers came to try and exit the restaurant and couldn't get through, the manager came and pointedly apologized to them over my head, as if I was invisible, "Oh, I'm so sorry. We aren't supposed to have anyone seated here. I'm sorry to trouble you but could you please go around." So suddenly all of the congestion was my doing and I was the bad guy. I was causing a scene and I felt dreadfully uncomfortable. At that point I determined that it was impossible for me to enjoy my meal, and this time I really was leaving. This time Matt agreed with me that it was a good idea, not only letting me go without protest, but also helping me to gather my things. So I put on my coat, packed up Maryn who had started crying sometime in the middle of all of this, and we headed out.
As I was leaving the manager gave me a smug look. He had won our little war. He had checked my king in our silent game of chess. The lady and her baby had given up, and his evening would be better now that he had rid himself of that pain in the neck.
And I felt my phone in my pocket. And I remembered Matt's comment about the Fire Department and wondered again what they would have to say about the seating arrangements at the restaurant. And I caught the manager's eye, and smiled my own little smile.
Checkmate.
9-1-1. "Can I please have the Non-emergency line for the Fire Department? Thank you."
Some clicks, and then a nice lady answered. "Fire Department. What address are you calling from?"
I turned around and read the numbers off of the building and gave her the address. She asked if that was the Indian Restaurant.
"Yes it is."
"What are you reporting?"
"This restaurant is seating well beyond its capacity. I think it is something the Fire Department should look into."
Now, I could be mistaken, but the lady on the phone seemed not only happy, but also eager to help me. Perhaps the restaurant had a reputation? Perhaps the authorities were looking for an excuse to get in there? Or perhaps she had once tried to bring her baby and have some curry and had also been exiled. Whatever the reason, I was surprised when she enthusiastically said, "We'll be right over."
You might think that I could have predicted that they would come right away. But you see, thanks to my previous position as an apartment manager, I used to be a regular 9-1-1 caller. And I have found that it often takes several hours to get a response to requests. If someone is breaking into a car, they usually show up 45 minutes later. People beating each other up--20 to 30 minutes. Possible drug deal, an hour or so. I figured that for such an insignificant report as overseating, the Fire Marshall might swing by sometime the next day, which would have served my purposes just fine.
Coming right over wasn't so good. Just then Matt called to have me take the girls with me into exile. I told him what I had done.
"You're joking. Please tell me you're joking."
And then the Longhurst Family came pouring out of the restaurant and I saw the innocent casualties of my brazen act, and I immediately felt horrible. Craig wouldn't get his first taste of Indian food. Scott's birthday dinner was ruined. And my poor mother-in-law.
If there is one person on the earth who would never do what I had just done, it was my mother-in-law. She is always very conscious of other people and would have taken the time to consider the rest of the family, the other guests at the restaurant, even the traffic that would have been disturbed by the fire truck leaving the Fire House. I was certain that she was mortified. I wanted to go hide under a rock, but I had to own up to what I did.
I walked over to the group and apologized. They quickly made a plan for where to go, and we scurried across the street just as the very large and very red fire truck pulled onto the street and parked in front of the Indian Restaurant.
We ended up eating at an empty Mediterranean restaurant up the street. I apologized several more times. Dad thought it was funny. Scott thought it was funny. (I think mostly they like having something for which to make fun of me for years to come.) I don't think Andy, Craig, and Kelly knew what to think, but Matt claims that they are now scared of me. Matt and Mom were not terribly amused, although I'm hoping that in time they can look back and laugh.
We drove by the Indian restaurant on the way home and it looked like business as usual, but I could swear there were fewer tables. We will never know what happened, and that's fine with me.
I don't intend to do anything like this again. My New Year's resolution is to only call the Fire Department for actual emergenies. I do feel bad for all of the inconvenience I caused my family and the other guests at the restaurant. I suppose I should feel bad for what I did to the manager, but I'm not there yet.
So there you have it. Judge me how you will, dear reader.
The worst part. I never did get any curry.
