"Um, Syrup?" or Why I Love Eavedropping

I love people watching. Sometimes I make up little stories about the people I see. Where they’re going, what they’re doing. It’s fun. But sometimes I don’t need to make up stories because I can eavesdrop and learn more than I ever wanted to know.

Yesterday, I went to my favorite yummy brunch place and dragged E with me. She hates it because the service blows, but she loves me and I bullied her into it. Go me. So there we are. Sitting outside on a lovely day, hungover like the devil, sipping on a bloody mary (me) and a mimosa (E) and waiting…waiting…on our yummy but very late arriving food. What are two girls to do but listen in on the weird happenings surrounding them?

One couple is sitting across from us. We’ll call her Pout and him Frat. Pout was…well, pouting through the whole meal. She looked a little afraid to touch anything, like it might give her yellow fever. And for a cute girl, she had the nastiest little scowl on her face. Whaa. Frat looked chill, perhaps even stoned, and kept blabbering about the funny names for the menu items. He finally decided to get the Churchill Hangover Sandwich because he liked the name of it. Huh huh huh. Frat chuckled like Beavis and Butthead, and when he did, the fratty mop on his head bobbed up and down.

Pout decides to order the buttermilk pancakes. Our collective waiter, Molasses (as in “slow as”) wrote the orders down and walked away from the table. After some very dull conversation that bored both of them, not to mention us innocent bystanders, and what seemed like five hours later, the food arrives. Pout’s pout grows. “Um, syrup? Shouldn’t I get syrup?” The runner says, “Yes, ma’am, it’s coming,” and hurries off before she throws something at him.

She cocks her sassy head to the side and sighs. “There are no blueberries.” Frat shrugs and begins to devour his triple-decker breakfast sandwich in what must be record time.

Pout pokes at her pancakes and bacon with her fork. She keeps turning the pancakes over and lifting them up, searching for the elusive blueberries. And keeps repeating, “There are no blueberries.”

E and I talk about how she distinctly ordered buttermilk pancakes and not blueberry pancakes. Molasses comes back with the syrup and gets assaulted for the lack of blueberries. He says that he didn’t know she wanted blueberries, but offers to bring them. By the time the blueberries get to the table, Frat has scarfed down the entire Hangover Sandwich, and Pout has ripped her bacon into tiny shreds, small enough to feed to an infant with two teeth. She puts the blueberries on the very side of her plate, which I think is odd since she wanted the blueberries inside the pancakes. I do not see her eat any of the blueberries.

Frat says, “Are you ok? You look like there’s something wrong.” Whoa, this guy is a genius. “I’m fine.” “Ok, well, are you sure? You seem like you’re not having fun or a good day or something.” She shrugs. I think that Frat is the one who should not be having fun because Pout is the most boring, most irritated person on the planet. Now I’m certain he must be stoned. Eventually, the darling couple take their leave and E and I notice Pout left over half her food. Though it was clearly poked and prodded to death.

Diagonal to our table, are Muffy and Buffy. I am always suspicious of people who dress up for brunch. Muffy and Buffy giggle through the meal and read the society page of the New York Times aloud. I think they learned that from a Sex and the City episode. E and I roll our eyes and can’t suppress our laughter. She says to me, “Who does that? And do they think we really wanna hear that stuff?” We decide their lifelong dream is to be on the society page of the NewYork Times. I’m glad I went to college and avoided that whole “society page trap.” Phew.

At one point, Muffy leans over the table and whispers, “Have you ever seen Justin naked? Or at least with his shirt off?” I am immediately intrigued. Buffy tosses her head back like she’s in a shampoo commercial and says, “Well, I saw him with his shirt off once. So hot. He’s totally ripped, which of course he would be because he works out like all the time.” Anti-climatic, huh? I was hoping to overhear a very inappropriate conversation about “Justin” and for both girls to discover they hooked up with the same dude. These girls really are that classy. The society page is just a beard.

By far, the classiest of our fellow customers are the Three Tools. They’re dressed alike in their college t-shirts and khaki shorts. Shoes are even matching. Do you think they called each other and coordinated before they left their houses? They all sound the same and like they’re actually trying to talk like Keanu Reeves and Patrick Swayze from Point Break. Most of their conversation is boring, but right before they get up from the table, they leave us with a real gem.

Tool 1 wants to see a movie and looks up times on his fancy SmartPhone. Tool 2 asks where Claire is. Tool 3 says, “They’re probably having sex right now.” The Three Tools laugh hysterically. Tool 1 suggests that no, they probably already had sex, and now she’s in the shower. “Yeah, she’s gotta wash all that off.” Tool 2: “It’s messy, she’s gotta wash up before a movie.” They all laugh at their cleverness, leave a pitiful tip for Molasses and strut off like the studs they think they are. Probably all of them wish they were having sex with Claire. Good call, Claire! Good call! These guys would definitely make you sleep in the wet spot.

Oh how I love brunch.