| Issue #30, October 20, 2006 |
Twentysomething…By David Lion Rattiner
Breakfast With Dad
I’ve been noticing more and more as I get older that having a meal with somebody is replacing doing something more entertaining to pass and share time together. When you’re a teenager, you share time with your friends at night going to the movies. When you’re in college, you go to parties or bars or play Frisbee. When you graduate however, you have a meal at a restaurant. Even if you are not hungry, you go. None of us know why we do this. Asking somebody to go for a beer at seven o’clock in the evening in college may sound acceptable, but after that you got to shape up.
My Dad called me on Wednesday to have such a meal. We were to have breakfast at eleven o’clock at the Poxabogue Golf Course in Wainscott. Did I already have breakfast? Yes. Did my Dad already have breakfast? Yes. Was I hungry? No.
I’m not much of a sit down breakfast man. I’m more of a bagel and coffee on the run kind of guy. But I agreed to breakfast with my Pops. What the hell else was I going to do? I can always drink a coffee, any time, any place.
I feel like a complete moron saying that I don’t want to eat anything at a restaurant. I guess it’s my business school thinking. I feel like the owner and the waitress will instantly hate me for ordering nothing. The waitress especially because her tip is automatically less by me not ordering anything and she went into the table thinking I was going to order. Saying I don’t want bottled water and that I want tap is one thing. Saying I’m not eating, well that is just a flat out insult.
So I scanned the menu for something healthy and light. I saw my meal, oatmeal with fruit. I could fake eat the oatmeal, just eat the fruit and get away with not being a wussy for telling the waitress I wasn’t hungry.
“What are you going to get?” my Dad asked.
“Oatmeal with fruit, you?”
“I’m going to get that too.”
My heart rate went up. What are we, twins? What are we a bunch of girlie health freaks that can’t order some eggs and bacon? The same exact breakfast is a little weird, I don’t know, lame is the word I guess.
“Don’t get the same thing as me. No, wait, I’ll order an egg white omelet. I’m really not that hungry.”
“So don’t get anything.” My Dad is always the voice of reason.
“I feel bad just sitting here watching you eat. Besides, you can’t just walk into a restaurant and not order anything, it’s rude.”
“All right, I’ll get the egg white omelet.”
I rethought the whole situation. Maybe my Dad had tricked me into not getting the egg white omelet. The waitress came over.
Waitress: “You guys ready?”
Dad: “Yes.”
Me: “No, I need a minute, sorry.”
She left, I looked at my Dad. “I’m thinking now I want the egg white omelet.”
“Okay fine, I’ll get the oatmeal,” Dad said.
“Do you want the egg white omelet? I mean, I’ll get the oatmeal. Like I said I’m not very hungry.”
“Yes, fine.”
“So wait, what are you having then?”
The waitress came back over.
Waitress: “You ready now?”
Me: “Yes, I’ll have the oatmeal with some fruit.”
Dad: “I’ll have the oatmeal with fruit as well.”
Me: “Wait, I thought, oh never mind it’s fine.”
She left. I felt a look, a strange sort of judgment. What is the deal with two grown men getting the exact same wimpy breakfasts? She was thinking. My Dad and I had total communications failure.
“What the hell just happened there, Dad?” I said.
“I don’t know, I panicked.”
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