2005-03-25 - 5:02 p.m.
Not a big entry here, today. Today is the first day of the seventeen days of my spring break. I haven't really had a spring break for the past four years, due to my being one of the ones volunteering to chaperone our school's Washington trip. As much as I had enjoyed it and got so much out of it, four times in a row was enough and this time I am so happy to not be going. I had made my two-hour video of the trip my closing gift to it, and now I can relax and think of doing stuff for just me, myself, the one person I seem to forget about most of the time.
My sign of doing that is when I sleep most of the weekend or a vacation--it's a helpless kind of rebellion of one side of myself hiding from a more controlling other side and I don't want to let that happen again this time. There are projects I want to do that I block myself from doing, because I think I have to do other things that have priority (and so instead, I do neither). Well, now I will attempt to find a balance between the two completing streams. I find that I have the energy for the things I have to do when I also let myself to do what I WANT to do. Seems elementary, but I have somehow managed to turn my disciplinary nature around so that it harms me more than helps me. Rather than being gentle boundaries, it's more like a barbed wire fence. Time to reorganize my internal structure and put everything back into its appropriate place--I don't need my psychic stomach trying to breathe for me, or my heart digesting my food, or my nerves attempting to circulate blood.
So far, today, though, I didn't get off to a good start, but instead fell right into the shallow groove of following a relatively new bad habit--wanting to go to IHOP to eat pancakes for breakfast. For all the years I have off and on eaten at an IHOP, I had always gotten their regular old buttermilk pancakes. But lately I have opened a new vein and have been trying new things, and so at IHOP I have been finding myself ordering their slightly-extra-cost Country Griddle cakes, which are made with Cream of Wheat. They are actually quite delicious and have a slight but detectable "crunch" to them that I find delightful. I've also explored their "Harvest Grain and Nut" pancakes, but decided that I liked the Country Griddle cakes the best. But any of them are just about the last thing I should eat, especially with the butter and syrup that I also put on them, such an extra load of fat and carbs for a relatively inactive person (that is to say, I'm not surfing every weekend or running marathons, which I think is the only kind of activity level that would actually justify that kind of meal), but this morning I let myself do it, but also allowed myself to genuinely experience just how they made me feel. Like I was on my way to being the next Terri Schiavo...surely I was right then and there creating my own potassium imbalance and precipating a massive heart failure. I should have had a banana with them, and then on the way home taken a detour via Staples Office Supply to pick up a copy of the "Living Will" software that they sell.
Okay, but mistakes are okay if I learn something from them, and on this spring break, I'll have maneuvering room, which I would not have if I had to simply stuff this stuff down into my unconscious "black bag" so that I could go to work for another eight hours. Now, instead, I can sit and indulge these various desires until their detriment becomes clear and I replace them with healthier, more beneficial desires. For those who might be interested in this process, I plan to make a public report here (but a plan is not necessarily a promise).
But here, at least, I am doing a good thing...posting a entry!
This particular IHOP (in West Hollywood) seems to attract more than its share of crazies. In my opinion, the crazies are the ones who give the waiters a hard time, because that's the only way they ever feel superior, giving a hard time to someone who has to take it.
Last week there was a woman giving her waiter a hard time over the item choices on the menu. To me, it's very simple, if they don't have what you want, then don't come here--don't harrangue the waiter over it, for God's sake.
"What comes with these eggs?" she asked, in very bad English, which really was a more muffled, mumbled, breathless kind of gutteral speech: "Wha cums wiffff thiz eggggzzz?"
"Fruit," the waiter pronounced (the "can't you read the menu?" remained unspoken in his brain).
"Fthruith?" she responded.
"Yes, fruit," he repeated.
"Fthruith, fthruith, wassa that, frthruith?"
"Fruit? You want to know what fruit is?"
"I knowa tha fthruith, I wanna knowa wus tha kinda fthruith, wassa issa dat cums width?"
"You could have canteloupe, pineapple, peach, strawberry, blueberry."
"You havva du apul?"
"No, canteloupe, pineapple, peach, strawberry, or blueberry. Would you like blueberry?"
"Havva um da nana, nana?"
"Banana?"
"Nana! Havva um da nana!"
"Canteloupe, pineapple, peach, strawberry, or blueberry. Which one of THOSE would you like?"
"I no wanna da fthruith, bring me da eggzzzz."
"Just eggs?"
"And sumding."
"Sumding?"
"Yeah, sumding, sumding, sumding else, whatta cumma wid it?"
"Fruit comes with it. Only fruit. Would you like to order something else?"
"I wanna dum eggzzz! Eggzzz. And sumding elze. Brigga me sumding elze."
He wrote something down and then left. Once her order was up, he placed in front of her a plate of eggs and a cup of cut squares of mixed fruit.
"Wasssz diz?"
"Fried eggs over easy, and the mixed fruit cup that comes with it."
"Buttt dez eggsss not cook right, and I wanna sumding elsz, not these mixes ftruith."
Anyway, the two continued to battle it out throughout the duration of my meal, with the waiter continually bringing her replacement dishes of stuff and she never was satified. I was dying to turn around and say to her, "Just eat it or get up and leave," but after all the waiter's patience, I suppose I could keep mine, too. But she really was representative of the kind of 21st first century person that I am becoming more and more aware of lately, the utterly non-self-reliant adult. In fact, I have become so aware of it that I ordered for myself from Amazon.com a book of Emerson's Self-Reliance and Other Essays, because I want to find out to what extent I, too, am a poor shadow of the ordinary self-reliant early American, and make the necessary definitive steps at self-correction. All of our great men, such as Benjamin Franklin, George Washington, and Thomas Jefferson, have subjected themselves to unflinching self-scrutiny and a severe course of correction, and I know that I am way overdue on that same thing, myself. Just because the rest of humanity has allowed themselves to sink down to the level of Yahoos doesn't mean that I, myself, can relax into that slough, too.
I was dying to express my commiseration with that waiter, but he wasn't my waiter, so I didn't have an opportunity to. Instead, I treated my waiter to an extra special level of kindness and attention, and since he was such an elegant and responsible gentlemen despite his position at this rather crappy restaurant, it was quite easy to do. I had hoped to have him again this morning, but instead, I got the poor waiter that had to suffer that woman last week. AND he got another crazy today!
This woman today could not be satisfied with her waffle. First it was "too crunchy," which meant, what, that it was slightly overcooked? Anyway, without a word, the waiter took it away, threw it out, and had another one prepared for her. (These people act like they're gourmets complaining about the level of curdle in the bechamel sauce, and really, this is just plain old basic FOOD.)
However, she didn't like the replacement waffle, either. She pointed to a wrinkle among the engrooved squares from the waffle iron and said, "Look at this line, it's obvious that this waffle was dropped on the floor. I can't eat this."
The waiter looked at her in dismay while I wondered what kind of neurosis she suffered from to make her assume the waffle had been dropped on the floor! Her mother must have given her ground glass and she's been suspicious ever since. I DO wonder what kind of abuse these people grew up under, because if they had been raised in a loving household like the one I was raised in, they would have learned to enjoy and appreciate every bite they are given. I somehow detect "mother" in every dish I eat, and "sending something back" is the absolutely last thing I would ever contemplate doing.
"It was not dropped on the flor!" the waiter said to her.
"Don't you lie to me," she said, "just FORGET it! Take this away." The poor wretch then took it away. I wondered what his solution was going to be, as the woman seemed to offer none. Instead, she sat there and sipped her cup of coffee and thumbed through a newspaper. Then an awful noise erupted, which I determined to be her cell phone's ring tone, at which time she reached into a large net bag and pulled out the shiny metallic-clamshell object and began a conversation on it, which demoted her yet another level, which I wouldn't have thought possible. From crazy to a crazy with a friend. In other words, TWO crazies, on a cell phone, which is like too rotten corndogs on a stick.
Thank God someone good then came in, a lone mother with a brilliant little girl and a precious little baby boy in a baby carrier. The girl, I judged to be about eight, I guess, was all filled with a marvelous enthusiasm. She loved the table they were taken to, commenting, "Oh good, this is my FAVORITE table." She then proceeded to adjust the shade to her liking and then excused herself for a moment and then returned with a child's coloring placemat and a box of crayons. "They have THIS one, Mommy," she announced, holding up the place mat and showing it to her mother, "the one that I have been WANTING to color!" I immediately loved her bubbling enthusiasm and her asserting, enterprising spirit.
She went right to work with her coloring project, while the mother studied the menu. When the waiter arrived, the girl stopped coloring and sat up at rapt attention, not saying anything, but thoroughly ready in case she was asked about what she wanted to eat, but I detected that she wouldn't complain if her mother didn't give her a choice but simply ordered for her. As it was, the mother ordered the bulk of the breakfast, but then offered her some narrower choices when appropriate. To everything her mother ordered for her, she said, "Oh good, I LIKE that!", and when offered choices, she was quite forthright and definite about them, no helpless hemming or hawing, or wanting something that wasn't offered. This one little girl outweighed the two crazies I described above.
While they waited for the meal, the girl's behavior couldn't have been more perfect. She walked the ideal razor's edge between being entirely independent and undemanding, busying herself with her coloring or looking out the window, but also being attentive and immediately ready with an enthusiastic response should her mother make a comment or ask her a question. And every once in a while she would make a surreptious glance back at me, but just quick enough that she neither bothered me nor attracted (or required) a correction from her mother, unlike so many kids I see who have to be constantly told to turn around. Instead, what I saw in her face during those glances was an amazing beauty, like a movie star's, but also a profound intelligence--so much so, that I began to wonder if she weren't actually an "indigo child," one of those mysterious children I have heard about who some people think may be a new development in the human species.
The waiter brought the crazy woman a third try at a waffle, and she examined it with her fork and turned it over and inspected it for tell-tale signs of having been dropped, and then without a word or nod began to eat it. The waiter ascertained that it had passed muster, so he moved on to his other customers.
Meanwhile, the baby boy had gotten a little fussy and the mother decided to take him out of the carrier and put him in her lap. The wonderful little girl said, "Maybe he wants to walk around a little bit."
The mother seemed to agree with that and put him down on his feet next to the booth. He really was a cute little tyke, as calm and serene as his sister was dynamic. The crazy with the waffle looked over at him and started to motion for him to walk over to her. "Come on, come on," she said.
The little girl got up and stood next to her brother and held him by the hand and attempted to walk him over to the crazy woman. I felt that she was brilliantly solving a little problem--assisting in satisfying the demand of the crazy woman (thus getting her off their back), while also serving as a protector for the boy. I noticed that the mother didn't interfere with any of this, and I presumed that she was quite willing to allow her mature daughter to assist in the care of her brother where appropriate, thus I could see in her techniques a lot of how her daughter had achieved the level of independence that she exhibited.
However, the little boy was still a little new at walking and instead of making any progress toward Waffle Woman, ended up tumbling down to the floor while his sister still protectivley held his hand. He began to squawl, but fortunately neither the mother nor the little girl made a big fuss about this. The mother simply picked him up, cuddled and kissed him for a momement, and then put him right back down on his feet again, and motioned with her head that the girl could hold his hand again, if she wished. I was thankful that no blame was placed on the girl for the boy's having fallen down.
Waffle Woman looked at them both standing there (no attempt was made to get the boy to walk this time) and said, "You two look exactly alike, do you know that?" Actually, they didn't look the least bit alike at all, nor did they act alike, either, but I was nevertheless heartened by the crazy woman's attempt at making civil conversation with these lovely children. The little girl simply said to her, "He likes to get up and walk around a little bit, he gets cramped and bored sitting all the time." Then she determined that they both had had enough, so in one familialy-coordinated motion, she let go of her brother's hand and slipped back into her place in the booth while her mother picked the serene boy back up and put him back down into his carrier without a complaint from him.
By this time, I was finished and ready to leave, so I said to the mother, "You have two beautiful children, and THIS little girl, she is a DYNAMO, and FOR SURE will be a great success one day!" The mother said, "Thank you!" and smiled and blushed a little in appreciation. Then I turned around and made my way to the cash register to pay my bill.
Fortunately, I was met there by the waiter, so I finally had my chance to say to him, "Why is it that YOU always get stuck with the CRAZIES?" His positive response was more than I could have wished for--he fairly beamed with happiness at the recognition and got all animated and said, "That woman, she just wouldn't accept the waffles!" I said, "Well, you were very patient, I would have said to her 'Get out!'"
He was so happy, and he laughed and was all excited and said, "Oh yes, 'get out,' but what I wanted to do was smash her face down in the waffle iron and then I'd know she'd never come back!" We both smiled and nodded over this and I paid my money and gave him a nice tip and left, sure that he was now strengthened enough to face the next round of crazies who were sure to make their way in.
At this point, I think I've had enough of Country Griddle Cakes bulging out my flesh and now is a good time to do something healthy with the rest of this day in which it is NOT raining. And if these bright blue skies hold out for tomorrow, perhaps I'll get up really early and go to the beach and rent a bicycle for the beach pathway. This body wants to do something in the fresh, warm air outside, and that sounds like a great idea.
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