Allissa at sixteen. Proving yet again, there is no substitute for youth.
I meant to write this post all last week, and even yesterday.
Just call me Jenny the Pirate Procrastinator.
Ah well. It's not as though you all had nothing better to do than wait for my next post.
So let's get started.
First let me tell you, we have had weather that is somewhat common in South Carolina in early spring.
That is, it has been decidedly cool.
On Sunday it was in the fifties and rainy, with a pretty stiff wind.
We celebrated her birthday a little over a week ago
I wore tights to church on Sunday morning.
Yesterday was much better, with abundant sunshine, but it was still cool and breezy.
Starting today until the smothering heat and stupidity humidity arrives, I predict that we will have ideal weather for being outdoors.
It's a good thing, because TG and Chad and Mike are in the midst of tearing out and redesigning and rebuilding our deck.
It's a poolside deck -- not one of the on-stilts kind -- and it was out of time, being rotted all the way through in a few places since last year.
We are fortunate to have Chad, who can build just about anything.
In fact several years ago he built a beautiful deck onto the back of his and Erica's house.
Phase one of deck demolition is underway
And he has just completed the construction of a room where their carport used to be. It's beautiful. When Erica has it all decorated, I will show you pictures of it.
So that's the big project that, I hope, will be finished by Memorial Day when everyone comes for the weekend and typically it's the first opportunity to swim in the pool.
But I won't pressure anyone to complete the deck in any particular amount of time. We can get outside from the sun room. Exiting by way of the French doors in the kitchen will now get you a sharp fall onto exposed deck infrastructure.
Rizzo has been a mite confused; usually that's his point of egress to go out and check his messages.
He doesn't get why I have been hustling him over to the other door that leads from the kitchen to the back, or even down to the sun room, to go outside.
Mike came over and helped with the deck demo too
At any rate, that's what's currently consuming us around here.
Yesterday I made a big crock pot full of chili for everyone. We women ate and fed the children while the men used the last of the afternoon light to do deck demolition.
The men came in when they'd had enough of that, and ate their chili.
But I'm getting ahead of the story.
A week ago Friday, we all headed up to the line where South Carolina meets North Carolina, and had a birthday party for our Allissa.
Dagny and Allissa are besties as well as cousins
She is the second daughter, and middle child, of our eldest daughter Stephanie and her husband Joel.
It was her sweet sixteen celebration.
We met at Cracker Barrel and after navigating a front-of-house person who seemed a tad bit testy over our arrival in such numbers (we were fifteen), we settled in and had a great time together.
It amazes me that you can enter a place of business, the sole function of which is to sell food and (in the case of Cracker Barrel) millions of other things, and be treated as though your mere presence is an affront to them.
These are the days we live in now; you never know what you're going to get when you walk in as part of a large party, all ready to pay exorbitant amounts for a meal, practically begging: Take Our Money!
The OBP: Official Birthday Photo
And feeling as though you should add: And please, don't be aggravated with us for inconveniencing you!
More on that later.
Following a nice dinner, we dug into the cake which Stephanie had brought along, and of course there were presents for Allissa.
Her parents had chosen a few Kendra Scott (Shine Bright, Do Good) necklaces, and those were a big hit with the birthday girl.
There would be more gifts, and more celebrating, from her family on the following Monday, her actual birthday.
They were planning to spend at least part of their day at the Billy Graham Library in Charlotte. Some shopping and eating out would be involved too.
Yes we lit those glittery candles
Audrey, Erica, and I went in together on a bottle of Chanel Chance Eau Tendre EDP (means real French perfume, which means pricey). We wanted to get her a glamorous grown-up-girl fragrance.
She seemed delighted.
At one point I made our daughter Stephanie cry (I didn't mean to) by bringing up this post that I wrote nine years ago about Allissa's seventh birthday, and showing the pictures around the table.
She couldn't handle the nostalgia, so I put my phone away.
After the meal and party celebration, we went outside and took some pictures. It was windy and decidedly cool in the Charlotte area that night, but we got through it and then it was time to go home.
We needed to rest up because another party of sorts was planned for the very next day.
That would have been a week ago last Saturday.
Chanel Chance Eau Tendre, for the ingénue
Erica had read about a place in Greenville -- a ninety-minute drive from Columbia -- at the Greenville Downtown Airport, called the Runway Cafe.
It's just what it sounds like: a small eating establishment that sits on the edge of the small airport's runway. Fifty yards away is a nice park for kids to play in.
It was going to be a lovely warm day, so we all decided to go. We figured the kids would love it.
My relatives who live in Greenville -- Henry (my mother's widower), my sister Kay, my nieces Susu and Gena, and my nephew Michael's wife Marie -- were all invited to bring the kids/grandkids and join us.
TG and I got to the restaurant right around two o'clock and saw that Henry was already there.
The Runway Cafe was on an episode of Restaurant: Impossible a year or so ago. It's the kind of place where you pick a table and then go up the counter to order your burger or sandwich.
There weren't many diners at all. At the back of the medium-sized space were many empty tables and a sea of available chairs. I headed that way.
Presentation is everything
Before I could get there, I was loudly accosted by a middle-aged, pony-tailed female employee.
How many are in your party? she demanded, omitting from her voice even a ghost of a trace of a welcoming tone.
In fact it occurred to me later that the pointed paucity of pleasantries on her part sounded almost angry.
I was still shell-shocked from the large-party experience from the night before, and I didn't really know an exact number. I hesitated.
Six? Eight? Ten? Twelve? she barked.
Uhh ... let's just say twelve and see what happens, I said. I knew we would not be fewer than six and we would not reach fourteen.
Did you call? she wanted to know, now staring me down.
? ? ? ? ?
Kendra Scott baubles are popular with the young girls
I shook my head no. I thought: Call who? The restaurant? It's not as though they take reservations; it's a burger and sandwich shop.
It never entered my mind to call and say, Hey, guess what? A whole bunch of us are coming in for burgers this afternoon!
You're going to have to believe me when I tell you, what I said next was not uttered in a snide or unkind manner. It was a simple question:
Would you like for us to leave? Because we can go someplace else.
(I mean, do you know how many places there are in Greenville to get a hamburger? We had driven past forty-seven of them on our way to the Runway Cafe.)
She said NO and stormed off.
A young man who had been sweeping around the empty tables joined two of them into one long table, and moved a few chairs to make a space for us all to sit.
Rhett sat beside "Uncle Mike" ... a big favorite of his
By then everyone was there and we numbered ten.
Chad and Erica went to the counter to order food for themselves and Rhett, and I could see that Erica was overwhelmed by something the same lady who was so curt with me, was saying to her.
Turned out she was fussing about a Runway Cafe policy of charging a twenty-percent gratuity to parties over six in number. She told Erica that our party would be charged that amount.
Erica pointed out that we were ordering at the counter, in groups of four or fewer than four, not being waited on as an oversized party.
The woman ignored Erica, who looked harried when she returned to the table.
Don't worry about it, I said. It's no problem. (If I'm going to die on a hill, it's not going to be that one.)
TG and I approached the counter to order our meals. The same lady was still there. Without looking at us, she wondered aloud what we wanted.
Me and my Lissy Belle
TG deferred to me and I said, I would like the Top Gun Burger, well done --
They're all well done, honey, she interrupted me. We're required to.
OK! Great! I said. And I don't want anything but cheese and pickles --
You have to tell me what you don't want, she said.
? ? ? ? ?
Well, I only want cheese and pickles, so -- I began.
No, you have to tell me what you DON'T want, she repeated, louder this time.
(Truth be told, I was not wearing my cheaters and although I was looking right at a laminated menu, I could not read the list of available toppings printed in light blue beneath the larger words Top Gun Burger.)
Allissa and her Papaw
Well I want only cheese and pickles, I said again. And not in a hateful or rude or smart-aleck way.
She threw up her hands and exclaimed: I JUST CAN'T WITH YOU! And she fled to the end of the counter as if to go into the kitchen, but then turned back around and yelled SO RUDE! so that everyone could hear.
Yes; yes you are, I thought. But I didn't say it. TG and I stood waiting for what came next.
In a few moments a man came to the cash register. Turns out it was Lem, one of the owners of Cafe Runway. He did not look at us either.
I said, You need to let that poor lady go home. She is having a terrible time.
He sighed. It's been a long day, he said.
? ? ? ? ?
With her parents, at church on the day before her birthday
It was two o'clock in the afternoon. They had opened at eleven o'clock that morning.
But he took my order -- Top Gun Burger, well done, cheese and pickle only -- with a nice attitude and no demands, and told me to grab a plastic cup and get my own fountain beverage.
So I did that, and went back to the table, where everyone was looking at me like, you were just giving her your order and she flipped out, and I said, She is having a really bad day. It's no big deal.
Our orders were brought to the table by a young man who emerged from the kitchen to drop our plates in front of us.
The food was pretty good. Not great, but by no means bad either.
My sister Kay and her daughter Susu arrived while we were eating, making twelve our official number. The lady who had become unhinged by my burger order confronted them as they headed towards the back where we were all sitting.
She wanted to know what they were doing.
You may or may not be made to feel welcome here
Kay remarked later, It was as if she was not going to let us walk past her.
They made it to the table, then ordered some fries for a nosh, and we all finished up and went out into the sunshine. Little planes were taking off and landing. We went over to the attached park and the children played.
Before heading back home TG and I stopped by Henry's for a few minutes to see some projects he has going in his yard. He will be ninety-two in August but will not be deterred from yard work.
But he has enlisted the help of our nephew's son, Tobias, with some of the larger projects.
After about twenty minutes, we said our goodbyes to Henry and headed for home.
While driving we marveled again at the service we had been treated subjected to at the Runway Cafe.
It's as though people have lost their minds. The place is mostly empty during business hours. You come in to fill the tables and chairs with paying customers.
Me, Henry, and Kay
You are treated as though your actual purpose for coming there was to ruin their day, and you are succeeding.
Remembering the way I kept repeating my order like a ninny, I was reminded of a phenomenon that the French call l'esprit d'escalier. Staircase wit.
Thinking of the ideal witty rejoinder, but too late.
Happens to me all the time. What am I saying? It happens to me EVERY time.
Because here is how I should have handled the situation at the counter, when I was attempting to order a simple cheeseburger with nothing but pickles added.
When the poor lady insisted that I had to tell her what I did NOT want on my burger instead of what I did want, here is what I should have said:
The French call it staircase wit
Okay! I don't want whipped cream, anchovies, clam sauce, or Brussels sprouts.
I don't want brown sugar, green beans, lemon curd, irradiated shrapnel, or battery acid.
Hold the pickled pigs' feet, the cat hair, the dandelion fuzz, the jellybeans, the marshmallow fluff, and the gerbil toenails.
Because cheese and pickle is all I want.
Not to overegg the custard, I could have said: Oh! Please omit the radish puree, monkey brains, and circus peanuts.
Maybe it would have made her laugh. We will never know.
The takeaway? I hope the lady at Runway Cafe is able to carve a moment out of each stressful day to breathe deeply ... and take a chill pill.
Baby Elliot says, save the drama for your mama.
Or enjoy a nap, or a cookie, or a therapeutic foot rub, or all three. And I pray she has a vacation coming up.
If she doesn't, I may have to send her this shirt to wear at work. FRONT TOWARD ENEMY. Warn the customers ahead of time. Honesty is the best policy.
But most of all, I hope she gets a new job. One that does not make her so miserable.
Because life is both too short and too long for that.
And that is all for now.
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Happy Tuesday
