Party of three plus two

Last night I went to dinner at a local steak house with my parents. It was a normal Wednesday night in a steak house at 7:30, the bar was rather empty, and sparse tables throughout the restaurant were filled with couples and families. We sat in a booth by the bar, one booth back from the entrance to the kitchen. Two girls sat behind us. I would estimate them to be around 21-23. They were conversing. Loudly. That is to say that the girl facing me, decked out in fake Chanel jewelry and stylish glasses, was screaming at the girl across from her who was dressed more nicely in a lacy black top. It was a train wreck.

“I JUST THINK YOU HAVE TO BE GOOD TO YOURSELF, YOU KNOW? BECAUSE IF YOU AREN’T, NO ONE ELSE IS GUNNA BE.”

Her conversation forced itself into my orifices, driving into my head. I tried to focus on the menu. I tried to begin a conversation with my mother about work, or family, or something.

My mom shook her head at me, unable to hear.

“I can’t hear what you’re saying. Is there something wrong with my hearing? I see your mouth moving but I just can’t hear you.”She screamed at me over her glass of wine.

I saw her predicament. There was only a booth between us and I don’t speak softly.
I nodded my head towards the girls behind her, “I think the issue might be the screaming woman behind you.” She nodded in agreement and took another sip of wine.

Our salads came. We broke bread. The conversation from the other table seeped over as unnoticeable as a tsunami.

“IT IS A REALLY SAFE DRUG, REALLY. AS LONG AS YOU FEEL GOOD ABOUT WHERE YOU ARE AND WHO YOU ARE, YOU KNOW, YOU’LL HAVE A REAL SAFE TRIP. I WOULD SUGGEST IT TO ANYONE, JUST A LITTLE GET AWAY, A LITTLE ESCAPE.I’M A FAN!” She made the last statement in a tone a new mother might use, giddy over her Diaper Jeanie. Her look and her words did not match. And she was just so loud.

My mother looked intrigued. “Is she talking about LSD?”

My step dad chimed in, equally interested. “Maybe Ecstasy.”

My mother again: “Or acid. Is acid the same as LCD? Whatever it is, she’s 'a big fan'.” We exchanged sentences nonchalantly, as if this was a normal occurrence in our lives. And really, it is. The three of us have had the pleasure of experiencing the weirdest and wildest of people. We attract them.

“NO ONE IN MY FAMILY REALLY KNOWS I’M GAY” really? I thought. You’re so modest about it. “I MEAN, EVERYONE HAS THOSE PEOPLE IN THEIR FAMILY THAT DON’T EVEN KNOW YOU AT ALL, SO WHY WOULD YOU TELL THEM?”

Our table of three gave up on conversation and tried to enjoy the act of forced ease dropping. It takes all the mystery out of it.

“MY LAST GIRLFRIEND WAS A REAL (insert derogatory “c” word here) I MEAN, SHE WAS JUST OUT OF CONTROL.”

And so it went on like this. I watched our waiter-- tiredly handsome from years of drinking, rocking a slight beer gut and a receding hairline-- approach the other table with the excitement of a child on Christmas. They joked and basked in the glow of pheromones and dysfunction glaring out from the booth.

Finally, the women left. The one facing me gulped down her drink, resembling that Koala recently saved from the wildfires in Australia. And then she darted from the table, in a hurry to get on to other things, her date following behind her dope-ily, unsteady in her heels, the tired waiter watching them as they left.

My mom told me a story about meeting the director of planned parenthood. My step dad told me about a blood biopsy and I listened in horror, watching my mom cut a pork chop.

And then we left, leaving the booths, the dishes, the bartender washing a glass behind us, for another day.