What's the Matter with Kids Today?
Well, it's either a sign of my age or a bit of an exaggeration, because the people involved were in their early 20s, but it was a head-shaking 40-minute wait for seating for dinner at the Buffalo Brew Pub for Val and I last night.
As I joined Val waiting after parking our car, first 3, and then 12, members of a party in their 20s entered the restaurant foyer. As usual, one male seemed to be the alpha douchebag, with a voice that could penetrate lead and brain matter to match it.
When they found out how long the wait would be, you'd have thought that he had been asked to pay for his room and board by his parents. He complained and complained, always in a voice loud enough to be heard inside the Boulevard Mall. Among the complaints was that they should go somewhere else, and then he decided it was the height of hilarity to mention that they could have gone to dinner and a show in Buffalo by the time they got seated here, and he repeated his "joke" over and over. When I stage whispered to Val that the joke wasn't funny the first time, a member of his party looked at me and looked away, face reddening.
Alpha Douche's next line to repeat occurred after he asked his growing party where else they could have gone; when one female said she suggested the Pearl Street Grill and Brewery earlier, he got a stricken look on his face and said, "we're not driving all the way downtown to eat dinner," as if they would need a change of clothes and to fill up the gas tank.
Oh, before I go on, he was also the group's fashion plate; besides his sweatshirt, touque and jeans, Alpha Douche was wearing Birkenstock sandals and socks; I guess it must have been Fashion Week at school. I really don't know if he and the group were State University at Buffalo (or another college) students or hometown heroes, but neither Val nor I noticed any other vocal inflections than those of native Western New Yorkers. The main topics of conversation were upcoming floor hockey games to be played and refereed.
Finally, after too much loud complaining and repetition, one male in his party told him he was talking too loud and to keep it down; he then said a little louder, "Come on, no one here thinks I'm talking too loud, do they?" I shook my head yes in an energetic manner as I stared at him. "No one thinks I'm being too ..." he started, then after catching my glare, he stopped and grumbled softer to himself.
About two minutes later, our buzzer went off and Val and I were happily seated in the restaurant; 10 minutes later, the young group was seated all the way in the back. I forgot to wave.
As I joined Val waiting after parking our car, first 3, and then 12, members of a party in their 20s entered the restaurant foyer. As usual, one male seemed to be the alpha douchebag, with a voice that could penetrate lead and brain matter to match it.
When they found out how long the wait would be, you'd have thought that he had been asked to pay for his room and board by his parents. He complained and complained, always in a voice loud enough to be heard inside the Boulevard Mall. Among the complaints was that they should go somewhere else, and then he decided it was the height of hilarity to mention that they could have gone to dinner and a show in Buffalo by the time they got seated here, and he repeated his "joke" over and over. When I stage whispered to Val that the joke wasn't funny the first time, a member of his party looked at me and looked away, face reddening.
Alpha Douche's next line to repeat occurred after he asked his growing party where else they could have gone; when one female said she suggested the Pearl Street Grill and Brewery earlier, he got a stricken look on his face and said, "we're not driving all the way downtown to eat dinner," as if they would need a change of clothes and to fill up the gas tank.
Oh, before I go on, he was also the group's fashion plate; besides his sweatshirt, touque and jeans, Alpha Douche was wearing Birkenstock sandals and socks; I guess it must have been Fashion Week at school. I really don't know if he and the group were State University at Buffalo (or another college) students or hometown heroes, but neither Val nor I noticed any other vocal inflections than those of native Western New Yorkers. The main topics of conversation were upcoming floor hockey games to be played and refereed.
Finally, after too much loud complaining and repetition, one male in his party told him he was talking too loud and to keep it down; he then said a little louder, "Come on, no one here thinks I'm talking too loud, do they?" I shook my head yes in an energetic manner as I stared at him. "No one thinks I'm being too ..." he started, then after catching my glare, he stopped and grumbled softer to himself.
About two minutes later, our buzzer went off and Val and I were happily seated in the restaurant; 10 minutes later, the young group was seated all the way in the back. I forgot to wave.
posted by Kevin J. Hosey at 6:15 PM
1 Comments:
Alternately, it kind of serves you right for going out to the 'burbs to eat.
You know, I don't mind that shitbags like that feel it's too much of a hassle to come into Buffalo to eat. There are legions more like him who are content in dining in some crappy chain where they let you throw peanut scraps on the floor. To them I say, "Stay the f*ck out there." It helps me get a table quicker at the Century Grill.
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