Rant About Restaurants: We’ve All Been There

why the fuck do restaurants pack dozens of tiny little tables into large spaces?

do eating establishments do this as a form of punishment? do they get some sort of sick amusement out of watching people squirm in discomfort?

you know what i'm talking about. you enter a restaurant with a hungry tummy and a slight excitement which dims when your hostess leads you to a tiny table in the middle of the room. she does this despite the fact that there are at least three booths open. you want to say something about changing tables, but this could lead to spit or pubes in your food, so you decide to keep your mouth shut.

in order to get into your seat, your ass is forced to brush against the arm of the diner sitting at the table within a mere inch or two of your own. as you sit down, she shoots you the stink eye.

i don't know the specifics of your dining conversations, but being as i'm a young single professional female, mine almost always involve fucking, pubic hair shaving, bowel movements, and other fun topics all peppered with colorful language and fueled by 2-for-1 specials from the bar.

i might just say something like "my asshole really itches...can you scratch it for me?" as i empty the bread basket.

because i am doomed to an eternity sitting at cramped little restaurant tables with the other minions while the breeders and their crotchfruit dine in the booths, it's not until halfway thru the meal that i realize the total strangers five inches to my left and right have stopped eating and fallen quiet. these people are absolutely no fun, of course, but i can understand. i don't want to hear anymore about their family vacations than they do about my itching colon.

keep in mind that i'm not simply referring to cheap restaurants. these are fine dining establishments like The Cheesecake Factory and The Olive Garden, so i don't understand why us diners are forced to become intimate with strangers we'd never want to talk to in a million years, much less dine with.

i can dream that one day i will actually sit in a booth. until then, pardon me while my crotch brushes against your fork.