An Angry Rant

Things have been kind of boring lately, and I didn't want to post a lot of complaints about enormous rocks, heat, insects - you know, all the other stuff I've been complaining about. Wouldn't want to get repetitive.

However... I have something completely different to complain about tonight. Or perhaps to rant about.

You see, this evening Leland and I had our dinner completely ruined by a table full of shrieking, self-absorbed hipster assholes.

We went to a Mexican restaurant suggested by one of our co-workers. (Every dinner comes with a quesadilla, sopapilla, and shot of Tequila! We're in!) The restaurant was cute, with Mexican murals across every surface. But as the waiter led us to our table, a strolling Mariachi began to play.

Uh-oh. I thought. We're going to have to pay this guy to go away or we won't be able to hear ourselves think.

Also, there was a baby crying.

Uh-oh. I thought. That baby will be crying and it will be annoying.

Oh Anna of the past. You were VERY WRONG to fear the Mariachi. And the baby.

For you see, our dinner was ruined NOT by the Mariachi, but by our fellow diners! Other adults! Yes! A table full of people yelling at each other!

Not angry yelling (most of the time). Happy yelling. Joyful shrieking. Celebratory ululating.

Yes. Ululating. You know, that yi-yi-yi-yi-yi noise that the Mexicans make in bad Westerns. Which, of course, is the proper thing to do when one takes a shot of Tequila in a Mexican restaurant.

And not racist in any way. Because, as I heard you all loudly reassure each other, you are not racist. Therefore, you are obviously able to do racist things. Because you know better, apparently, which makes it - ok? Somehow the logic was lost there.

Speaking of knowing better, I would honestly have rather had the baby screaming. Babies crying are annoying, but you can't really blame the baby and I always feel so bad for the poor parents, who want the baby to be quiet just as much as or more than everyone else. YOU IDIOTS HAVE NO EXCUSE.

Oh, and I was mortified for mankind when you, Mexican-shirt Girl, started to make up names for the waiters (who were all Hispanic). "Tom! Tom!" Yelling at the waiter to get over to you.

And then your friends thought you actually knew the guy's name but weren't, you know, pronouncing it correctly or something, so everyone chimed in "Tomas! Tomas!"

"I just made up that name." You say, evidently without a shred of shame.

That's it. Off. I'm voting you off the planet. Preferably via some sort of cannon.

And the reason you wanted the attention of the waiter? They screwed up your friend's bill. And the appropriate response to that incredibly important and rare occurrence is for you, Aggrieved Party, to pout, call the waiters names, and threaten to not give them a tip. Loudly. Not that you have any other volume level, I just wish to reiterate that this entire drama was conducted at decibels that exceeded OSHA safety regulations for workers without ear protection.

All with a quivering lip suggesting you might cry - cry! - at any second. Listen. I cry a lot. Without any real solid justifiable reason, usually. And I have never threatened to cry in a restaurant because they screwed up my bill.

So when your friend's bill is screwed up, what do you do? Yes, you, Skinny Guy who Probably Has Ironic Tattoos. You're the man, right? I think that you should stomp to the waiter's station and bully the manager into giving your friend a 25$ gift certificate!

Obviously you share this opinion.

Glad you're mollified, Aggrieved Party. And so happy that now you want the staff to take pictures of you doing shots of Tequila!

Air-Raid Siren Girl With Voice Who Cuts Through Glass, you should get in on this picture! Quick, yell for one of the waiters to get in the picture with you. Yes, literally yell at him. Make up a fake name for him, and insist that he sticks out his tongue in the picture, as you are doing.

Continue to order the staff around as you maneuver your party into different poses. Pouring salt onto your hand! Licking the salt! Shot glass, poised at your lips! And so on!

Please, now flip through the pictures on your camera and discuss between yourselves - and, by necessity, the rest of the freaking restaurant - which of these photos you will put on Facebook. Yell at each other about posting pictures with alcohol in them, and struggle briefly (and LOUDLY) over the camera.

What the hell is wrong with you? I'm not a real big fan of child abuse, but I have to believe that if someone kicked your ass a little more often at a crucial time in your development, you might not be able now to fit your head so far up there! Can you even see that there are other people in the restaurant trying to enjoy their meals?

You're rude, you're self-absorbed, and you're intolerable. You ruined my meal, and even though I yelled at you as I left the restaurant (yes, I did), I doubt that any intervention at this point will have any effect on your behavior or attitude.

I know that when you tell this story in the future, it will go like this: "hey, remember when we were at that Mexican restaurant doing NOTHING AT ALL and some BITCH yelled at us for NO REASON?"

Just know that when I reminisce about this little episode in the future, my version will go like this: "hey, remember when those assholes were being epically loud in that Mexican restaurant and I BEAT THEM WITH A BASEBALL BAT?"