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Use Your Inside Voice, Please.

The weather was so incredible yesterday that we decided to have lunch on the deck at the golf & country club.

Now, I know the phrase, "...to have lunch on the deck at the golf & country club" sounds incredibly snooty. So let's just be clear - a snobby whore I am, a snoot I am not.

The country club is both private and public. If I had a spare $100,000 I could join up and have free run of the place. Or, I could be smart and pay for my meals and green fees like the rest of the common folk.

And, I don't golf. Well, I have. But watching me golf is like watching Edward Scissorhands trim the hedges - arms flailing everywhere while chunks of foliage soar helplessly through the sky. I have been told I have a better "short game". I don't know if that means I look really good in my shorts or if my putting is exceptional. Whatever. In my opinion, my best game is spent looking pretty while driving around in those fun little carts with a drink in my hand.

Annnnyhew... lunch.

As I said - gorgeous day. The deck overlooks the 9th green and the fountain courtyard with the mountains in the distance. It was breathtaking. There were only 4 other tables with patrons at them so it was set to be a quiet and luxurious lunch in the sun.

Until we sat down, that is.

I don't know what it is about eating outside, but people suddenly lose their inhibitions. The volume of their voice raises a few decibels and the topics of conversation they might not have inside the restaurant suddenly become fair game.

In essence, they lose their inside voice.

We barely had our water glassed filled before the gentleman at the table to the left of us blew his nose. And I think we all know how I feel about This Topic. I tried to ignore it but after he went through the 3rd napkin, I had to give him the raised-eyebrow-over-the-sunglasses-glare.

And then while I was perusing (I think that's a word) the menu, the gentleman at the same table as Mr. Snot Nose started to share about his cousin who has a large mass of mucus in his right lung and how he has coughing fits that produce large chunks of the stuff. Gee, thanks Mister. I think you just changed my mind about ordering the clam chowder.

If that wasn't insulting enough, the gentleman at the table on the right of us started sharing about his prostate exam. This was the same gentleman who lowered his sunglasses as we walked by and said, "Hellloooooo ladies." and laughed like one of guys who wears stained wife-beaters and rents motel rooms by the hour. (Not that I have ever rented a hotel room by the hour, I am just going by how I have seen them portrayed on shows like NYPD Blue. Really.) Had I known Mr. Thinks-He's-Hot was having erectile disfunction, I might of said something witty on our walk to our table. Having trouble saluting the flag, Mr. Johnson?

We considered moving back inside but opted to stay when those gentleman paid their tabs and were on their way to golf the back 9. It seemed we were out of the woods until the Varsity boys team from the local high school came out for a Coke. Apparently golfing the first 9 creates a sort of panic among the young boys and they use their sunning-on-the-deck break to make sure Mr. Winkie is scratched and still in place...

*sigh*
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Posted by Foodwhore at April 9, 2004 10:09 AM