The day after Thanksgiving, Hubby and his Dad met the pastor of Colleyville Presbyterian Church for some manly reminiscing of old times. (hi, Pastor Smith!) As you may remember, this church is where Hubby’s family and mine first met over 20 years ago. Hubby and I stopped to have our picture taken together in front of the building last month.
They ate, drank, told a great story about my dad. They talked about people, events, issues, old times. I’m sure they shook hands at some point and maybe even hugged manly hugs.
The women, younger men, and children all went to a Mexican restaurant.
Although the men had some interesting conversations, I think it’s safe to say that our lunch was far more blog-worthy.
Even though we all started out at the same hotel just 6 miles from the restaurant, it took 4 cars, 11 phone calls and 20 minutes for all of us to arrive at the restaurant. This was an inauspicious start.
There were 21 of us at the Mexican restaurant: my mother-in-law with 4 of her mostly-grown children; 3 of her sisters; me and my 8 children; and various other cousins, in-laws, and cousins-in-law. We were a crowd to behold, and the waiters must have cringed as we entered.
They pushed together 5 tables in the middle of the main room and we were all seated.
Somebody quietly informed the waiter that my mother-in-law’s birthday would be Monday, and would they please sing to her?
Several of the children headed to the bathroom and came back, and the waiter took drink orders. As the second deployment returned from the bathroom, the waiter brought our drinks.
He spilled 3 glasses of iced tea all over my mother-in-law and her sister.
He apologized profusely, and left. Other staff appeared to add their own apologies on his behalf; my mother-in-law courteously asked what they would be doing to compensate her for this accident and a managerial-looking gentleman promised to take care of the matter, then they all disappeared. We laughed weakly, and rejoiced that it had to get better from here. The dumped-upon ladies excused themselves to the restroom, damp and grumbling but consoling themselves with thoughts of free food.
Eventually, a waiter came back from the kitchen with a couple of damp rags and sopped the tea off of the table, oblivious to the puddles on the chairs and floor.
Then Hubby’s 13yo sister came around the table to get some cheese sauce and there was a collective gasp as she hit the puddle on the floor: her feet flew out from under her, her dish flew up into the air, and she hit the hard tile floor flat on her back! A moment later, her dish came down beside her and shattered into a thousand pieces.
I helped her to her feet and she slunk back to her seat, shaken and bruised. The room was silent, and the waiters stood by looking a little shocked and embarassed, and somebody decided it might be a good time to get rid of the puddle on the floor. A manager asked if she was alright and quickly disappeared.
My mother-in-law and her sister finally came back from the restroom, looking – well, as if somebody had dumped a tray of iced tea on them. They inquired if they might have some dry chairs and were accomodated.
My mother-in-law inquired if taking a flying leap off a puddle iced tea qualified a customer for free food, and was assured that things would be taken care of.
When it came time for refills, the waiter played it safe and held the glasses over the floor behind us as he respilled – er, refilled them. As he overflowed my glass, I was deeply thankful that the liquid splattered my sandaled feet rather than landing on my head and down my back. He was only slightly amused when I asked if my wet feet qualified me for the Free Food Club.
The 7th deployment to the bathroom came back.
We had been there over 30 minutes before the circus of placing our food orders had begun and ended. It included 3 separate bills, too many people asking too many questions about each other’s food, 2 more bathroom deployments, and 2 very patient waiters. Just to keep things interesting, a few members of the group played musical chairs, hopping from one of the table to the other. But finally our food was ordered and we were making progress toward lunch. We munched our free chips and salsa, chatted, estimated the chance of removing iced teas stains, and waited.
After nearly an hour, we realized that some of the children were still patiently waiting for their drinks. This was remedied, and we continued to wait.
The 13th bathroom trip came and went.
When the food finally arrived, we began to sort out the meals. As we sat in the middle of the main room of the Mexican restuarant with our own 21 pairs of lips a’flippin, 40 other patrons talking and clanking dishes and silverware, frequent crashes from the kitchen (we heard at least 4 trays hit the floor) and raucous mariachi music all around us, a waiter would timidly call for the owner a pair of cheese enchiladas.
cheese enchildadas? 2 cheese enchiladas with a side of beans and rice?
“Who had chicken enchiladas?”
“I did!”
“No, you had chicken. He said cheese.”
“But I had cheese!”
“You said chicken.”
“Did somebody say cheese? I ordered a cheeseburger!”
When it was all said and done, I think 8 of us had the food we had ordered, 6 had food we were content to eat even though it wasn’t what we had ordered, and 7 of us were still waiting on meals that were absent or sent back for corrections. I strongly suspect that some of the 6 were eating the 7’s food.
One child was still waiting for her drink.
In a quiet, surreal moment, we all watched idly as a waiter sent a condiment cup of catsup flying, and it bounced in slow motion along the entire length of our 5 tables. He stared dully after it, waiting for it to come to a stop. He picked up the cup and headed to the kitchen leaving an 18 foot trail of catsup splatters beside our tables. We stared at catsup, waiting for somebody to mop it up or slip in it, but nothing happened. Maybe the fun was over. I was blogging in my head, so I really hoped it wasn’t over.
The din and clatter resumed, and 15 minutes later the number of people with ordered or acceptable food had climbed to 17.
Finally, they brought 2 more enchilada plates. Now 19 had food of some sort.
My brother-in-law still hadn’t received his food, so he told them to bring his in a to-go box.
Most of us were nearly finished eating by now, and I realized that our 5yo Becca hadn’t touched her food.
“Did you eat too many chips, honey?”
“No, Mom. I’m waiting to pray.“
Good girl. We had prayed, but the mariachis on the loudspeaker didn’t know, and neither did Becca.
17th bathroom deployment.
Now came the day of reckoning. The bill arrived – just one bill. oops. One bill with 22 meals on it. We had 21 people, 3 of whom had earned free meals the hard way. oops again.
My mother-in-law was treating the girls and I to lunch, and there were supposed to be 12 meals on her bill, minus 3 freebies. The staff had spent irreplaceable time, brain cells and tree pulp taking 21 orders onto 3 separate tickets, then evidently discarded them in favor of charging her for everyone’s food. They had also charged twice (and two different prices) for a meal that had yet to be delivered.
We wished my father-in-law was with us – he once got a free meal because he had to peel the seal off of his own catsup bottle in a restaurant. He would have had fun with this bill.
In the middle of some hard-nosed bargaining, an unsmiling waiter appeared and slammed down an ice cream sundae in front of my mother-in-law.
“Happy birthday,” he announced brusquely and spun on his heel to leave.
“But don’t you sing to her?” Aunt Beth called after him.
“No,” he answered without looking back.
No? Twenty of us burst into song, bidding her a happier day Monday than the one she was having just now.
The waitstaff took the liberty of bringing the very last meal, the wrong meal, in a to-go box, perhaps as a subtle suggestion that our group ought to consider leaving very soon.
In the end, the bill was divided and paid. The waiter was tipped, 2 meals were free, and one damp unhappy aunt had a complimentary glass of iced tea.
Then somebody mentioned a free ice cream bar. We ate 21 free ice cream cones, and everyone left smiling. It’s amazing what a little chocolate ice cream will do for the morale.
Disclaimer: For the benefit of those who were there, I will confess that I fudged on some of the details that were fuzzy in my head: how many people actually received their correct order? how many bathroom trips? I think we were actually 22 or 23 people, and there really weren’t 22 meals because 2 of us had babies too young to need real food…but did you really want to do the math yourself, or just hear the story?
Furthermore, certain details have been omitted to protect the identity of those involved. You know who you are, and I’ll just say thank you for making lunch an even more interesting story than what I can tell here. Someday, Lord willing, we’ll all laugh about all of the details.
I love y’all.
