August 3: Please Pass the Vulgarity

As a waiter, I witness guests with looks of frustration at neighboring tables all the time. I've had to apologize for loud and inconsiderate groups that may have had one too many margaritas and I've even taken the liberty of telling junior high kids that they weren't the only patrons of the restaurant.

I can remember times when I was growing up that my family was the aggravated group that had to deal with hyper, disobedient tykes. I'm sure I was a part of an irritating table or two in high school, but rarely can I remember sitting in a booth and being cognitively embarrassed to be a part of the group I was with.

After spending the day floating the river, I found myself tired, hungry, and slightly inebriated as I slid into a booth with three people whom I had never met before the day had started. The conversation started casually enough with topics ranging from places of origin to vegetarianism. The orders were taken and the food was delivered as an elder couple was seated directly behind us in the neighboring booth. The woman and I made eye contact for a brief second as she sat facing our table and (who I presume to be) her husband sat with his back to us.

As if on cue, my table's conversation immediately shifted into the always-popular topic of sex. (On a side note, why am I the only person in the world that doesn't have any interest in sharing my experiences with peers? What I do with a girl is her and my business only. I've never had any desire to run to my male friends and describe in detail what I've been doing.) Words that included rape, anal, and foreplay were tossed around and were delivered with that extra pop that all provocative words and phrases possess. Expletives, stories of the loss of innocence and the spread of sexual corruption were traded like baseball cards on a playground.

The image of those aged blue eyes and soft smile kept replaying in my memory as the stories grew more and more promiscuous and vulgar. I remained silent and included the complimentary nod so as not to be seen as antisocial, but I was nevertheless embarrassed to be seen as a part of this group. To our booth neighbors, I was still guilty by association.

Did they say anything to us? No. Did they say anything to each other? I don't know. They never gave any indication that they were annoyed by our conversation and I didn't notice them shaking their heads in disgust at our low-brow topic. For all I know, our conversation never even made it to their table, but it doesn't change the way I feel about being in a group like that.

I may be aging myself here, but there's a time and a place for that kind of talk and a restaurant is not one of those places. Each of the four members at our table had a college education, so why couldn't we choose a more appropriate topic? I've always felt bad for people that can't have a good time without being interrupted by a rowdy group and today I was a part of one of those groups. I just hope that our conversation today didn't interfere with the couple's meal.