So... farting at the table would be rude too, huh?
Damn, I was wondering why everyone left out of the breakroom. I thought they were all impressed by my ability to stuff 12 chicken wings in my mouth at once. But then I had to let one rip and everyone left. ugh.
Okay, folks, here it is, as posted at the original site:
I have “standard operating procedures” for situations requiring communication, and I’m here describing those situations in particular where one is dining; for other situations not involving dining, I have other procedures.
If dining with only one person, I never read. I give my full attention to that person; this is after all the situation I prefer, one-on-one, and if available in a booth (rather than at a table) in an obscure corner of the restaurant, where there is less “noise” from clutter, motion, light, and color.
In those instances, I never read, not even the headline of a newspaper.
However, there is a newly-evolving problem, and I might have to change the standard operating procedures here, with the advent and prolific use of cellular telephones. I am constantly amazed at how routinely—as if it’s no big deal—and automatically people, upon hearing their cellular telephone ring, stop in mid-conversation to chitchat on it.
Here I am, burning my brain, using a tremendous effort of both intellectual and physical gymnastics, to give this other person my full attention; to ensure that I am accurately “getting” what’s being said.
BlueStateSaint here keeps egging me on about purchasing a revolver, which of course is going to happen sooner or later, just to piss off the anti-Second Amendment bigots, but I’m still doing target practice. The “goal” is to learn how to shoot a hole into a cellular telephone without hurting anybody.
If dining with two people, I never read. Sometimes it seems to me it would be better if I did, but I don’t. Everybody tells their problems to the bartender; for reasons mysterious to me, bartenders in turn share their troubles with me.
In the case of dining with two people, the two people are usually a married couple or two good friends of each other, who much to my dismay have a habit of “letting their hair down” when around me, as if I’m supposed to adjudicate differences between them.
Or perhaps they simply just want to out-drama-queen each other in front of an audience.
I have no idea why I attract such situations, but I do.
Damn, I hate it when that happens.
If dining with three people, it becomes a great big grey area, but usually no. it all depends upon how well the three people get along with each other, in relation to myself. Probably about 10% of the time—I’m only guessing here—I do it, but most nearly all the time I don’t.
If invited to dine with four or more people, I respectfully “decline” about 75% of the time, accepting just enough invitations to keep me socially viable. I usually read at the table, but it depends upon the nature of the other company.
The one being complained about had nine other people there, three of whom are very good friends, and the other six more than acquaintances, but less than friends. These were mostly affluent people whose main interest of the night was Pa Kettle in the White House’s attempts to run the cattle industry into the ground.
My sentiments matched theirs, and they knew my sentiments matched theirs, and I had nothing new or interesting to contribute, so read instead.
This is a life that, really, tries to avoid such situations.