This
past Saturday, there must have been a full moon or a new moon or a blue moon or
something, but, all day, people were downright antagonistic to the Recent
Paterfamilias.
A groundskeeper in Central
Park, armed with a rake, a bad attitude, and a NYC Parks-sanctioned golf cart,
came barreling down a paved path at the R.P. & Co., only to screech to a
stop at the very last moment.
The
Recent Paterfamilias, being of the sort to say something at this sort of thing,
felt the need to say something.
“Were
you planning on running us over?”
“Actually,”
he replied, “I was going to thank you for getting out of the way.”
Dumbfounded
by this response, and marginally furious, the R.P. & Co. quit the
scene.
Later
that afternoon, the R.P. & Co had a rude run-in with a wide-footed hostess
at our local 5 Napkin Burger, one of my (now previously) favorite
restaurants. As she opened the
door for the R.P., wife, stroller, and baby, she, the hostess, still refused to
clear the doorway, all while impatiently gesturing us through. I saw at once that I wasn’t going to
clear the opening with the stroller.
My wife of the R.P. did as well, and offered to hold the door from the
outside so that the wide-footed hostess could move out of the way. But Big Foot was insistent. She was also verbally short with us,
encouraging us on, so, reluctantly, on I pressed, only then to hear:
“Soooo,
you just ran over my foot, but whatever…”
After
the wife, the baby, the stroller, and I were forgotten and neglected at our
four-top table for a disturbingly long time, we decided that we’d rather leave
and take the party somewhere else before anyone got any more irritated.
On
the way out, there She was again, again offering her services at the door, but
not before saying:
“Soooo,
try not to run over my foot this time, ok?”
As
kindly as possible, I related to Big Foot that, should she want her feet not
run over, after opening the door for people, she should probably get the hell
out of the doorway.
Now,
historically, when the Recent Paterfamilias has a grudge, the R.P. has been
known to keep it, and I don’t know if the 5 Napkin Big Foot knows what
“backlash anger” means (where the R.P., having had quite enough, decides, “You
know what? Now I’m angry with you.), but 5 Napkin Burger is now on
boycott list.
So,
let it be known, should any of my loyal readers be in dire need of a satisfying
de facto boycott—the 5 Napkin Burger chain restaurants are ripe, fat-footed,
and available.
And
then, later that Saturday night, when out walking his dog (let’s call him
Tedward E. Edwards), the Recent Paterfamilias, along with the rest of his
neighborhood was harassed by an intoxicated fellow screaming his intolerances,
and the R.P. was forced to defend himself and his dog and drive his point home
by giving this lovely young man an upward openhanded stiff-arm to the jaw line
which consequently sent said pleasant young man running away down the sidewalk,
all the while talking tough guy talk over his tough guy shoulder as he
retreated forever into the cowardly shadows, nary to show his eloquent face
again.
Soooo,
as has been stated, there must have been some kind of a funny full moon out last Saturday, and, I got to admit, all things considered, I guess I’m lucky I didn’t
have a run-in with an anti-social werewolf.
