table n onion

I realized this past weekend that certain folks out there don’t understand how things work in this world.

For instance, if you are looking for a parking spot at the grocery store, and you see someone backing out of their space, you stop your car and put on your blinker. This signifies to the entire world that you have claimed that spot once it has opened up. Anyone who takes that spot from you is a d-bag.

Plain and simple.

Something of a similar nature happened to us at King’s Dominion on Saturday. I almost always pack a lunch when we go there – a burger with fries is over $15 in the park, and it’s not even very good. I also park right next to the small pavilion where they have 6 picnic tables, so it’s easy for us to get the stuff from the car to the table.

Yeah, I got this lunch thing down.

So, after a morning of coasters and carousels, we were all ready to head to the car and chow down on our sandwiches. The last time we were there we could not get a table, and we had to eat out of the back of our car – but it was only three of us then. This time we had friends along, and we really needed a table.

I walked around the pavilion and surveyed what stages of luncheon-ness the groups occupying the tables were at. Having spotted folks who had eaten their sandwiches and were now just picking at chips, I asked if they were going to be leaving soon. They said yes, that they were just about to clean up their stuff. I said great, and put my water and my bag down on the table. I told the kids to stand by and stand watch.

I walked to the car to get our cooler and noticed a teenage girl looking daggers at me. Oh well, teens are known for being bitchy. When I turned to head back to the table, there was a man sitting there.

Hmmm.

He was cutting an onion on a paper plate using a Johnny-on-the-go pocket knife. I approached him and said, “excuse me, but I had my stuff here.”

He glanced at me and said, “Yes, well we’ve been waiting over there a long time for a table to open up, and this one is ours. But thank you!”

Seriously? What is this, a line at the bank where you wait for the next available cashier? That’s not how it works, bub – not in the world of parking spots and picnic tables.

See, I had secured that table – secured it by engaging in coversation with the previous occupants – sealing the deal if you will. All this dork did was sit and wait. That doesn’t cut it in my book.

And I didn’t like the way he had spoken to me. He had told me his side and dismissed me – like, nothing further needs to be said, so piss off. The only thing that kept me from sitting down and refusing to move was the fact that the table right next to us opened up. Otherwise, I would have dug my heels in.

But I was still pissed and so were my kids. I mean, who muscles in and steals a table from two 12-year old girls? I mumbled “douchebag” and walked away to set up our lunch.

He sat there cutting his onion, and taking out bags of cold cuts from his cooler. His dumpy wife and snarky kids came over and sat down. Oh, and the bitchy teen? One of his. No wonder she gave me the cold stare – I’d “stolen” their table.

So while we ate, we picked them apart. We laughed at how idiotic it was to sit and cut an onion at a picnic table – why not cut it at home and put it in a ziploc or some tupperware? Or better yet, skip the onion. Who wants volcano breath while you’re waiting in line to ride the volcano?

My youngest daughter was really mad. I told her it really didn’t matter because we’d gotten a table anyway with no further waiting, but she was still sore that she’d been bullied out of her spot by a middle aged man in too-high shorts and knee socks. She’s just like her dad…

Had hubby been there, there would have been no turning the other cheek. No all’s well that ends well. There would have been shouting and name calling, and stares, and shaking of heads.

So during lunch I schooled the kids on the proper etiquette for commandeering a table, whether at the mall or in the King’s Dominion parking lot lunch pavilion – and I told them loud enough for him to hear.  I also told them not to let grown men push you around when you are in the right.

Oh, and the most important advice? Cut your freakin’ onions at home.

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