65 Year Tantrum

As any normal day at Orem's Diner, especially during the holiday season, large parties have a tendency to come into the restaurant. This bright and shining day, mostly because of the sunlight reflecting on the marble flooring at 8:30am, gives a very nice effect actually, a party of seven came in, mostly made up of children. The only table available for such a large party was a round booth in the far corner on the right hand side of the door. Perfect. Except for the fact that there was a leather jacket and a baseball cap and a folder of some kind in the booth.

"Hey Dee? Any one over at table 20?"
"No, there isn't."
"Alright."

Thus I proceed to gather the items, muttering to myself about forgetful people when an old man comes out of the restrooms. The orange shirt struck me first, followed by a stereotypical neck piece a Texan would wear, before I even got to his face. My eyes blinked a few times, taking in the sight before me. All I could think was; 'Holy Christ. You are bright.'

"Those are my things."
"Oh, well I was unaware that you were sitting here. How many are you going to be sir?"
"We're going to be four."
"Uh, no, then you can't sit here. This table is for five or more and I have a party of seven."

Here, the man snatches, quite angrily from my hands, his leather coat, which he folded up, and grabbed his folder of some kind and said to me in a very angry and annoyed voice.

"Well, then, where do you suggest I go?"
"Any other booth you want."

So, he sits in the booth next to the round table, and this is what he did before he sat down. He THROWS his jacket into the corner of the booth and SLAMS the folder onto the table before sitting down with a huff and a grumble. Walking away calmly, I rolled my eyes while my back was turned, left some menus on his table and had the party of seven settle in. In the end, he and his business partner ended up staying in that booth for two and a half hours talking business. They were lucky we weren't busy today.

Just goes to show you that even men of age SIXTY-FIVE can throw hissy fits and tantrums. Go fucking figure.