I know it’s rude to call people names. But the truth hurts. And sometimes you need to call them like you see them.
I’ve done a fair amount of traveling the last few months. And typically what I find is that people are pretty much people, whether you’re at a truck stop in Missouri or some trendy restaurant in Atlanta. However, if you happened to be at O’Charley’s in West Knoxville on a recent Wednesday evening, you too could have overheard the ridiculous conversation at the table next to mine.
It appeared to be a double date. Each of the four appeared to be around 30 years old, give or take a few either way. Old enough to have outgrown the words spilling out of their respective pie
holes. (Wednesday night is free pie night at O’Charley’s)
The conversation ping-ponged between two related topics:
1) Each member taking turns bragging about the various drinking establishments they’d been thrown out of, and…
2) One of the guys repeating that he was in the mood to have a fist fight. Instead of discouraging their table-mate, the other three argued about where they could go to accomplish this feat.
Not that it matters much, but this all happened in the nicest part of a pretty nice city.
Far be it from me to judge how others spend their time, talents, resources, or energy. But I don’t have to stretch the limits of my imagination very hard to picture this same foursome as the kind of folk who toss spent cigarette butts out car windows or decide to drive themselves home after a few too many.
If it looks, acts, smells, talks, drives, (and fights) like an idiot…
I’ll be honest, I was really sort of hoping the two guys would square off there in the restaurant and beat each other senseless. Getting arrested would surely sober them up before their eventual drive home.
Plus, they’d all have another place to brag about getting kicked out of.