A History of Social Awkwardness #1: Personal Choo-Choo Bubble

This is the first installment of my multi-part series “A History of Social Awkwardness”.  I’m not even going to try to put the parts of this series in chronological order because I am positive that I will continue remembering more incidents in no particular order over the course of the series.  Because I have a bit of time on my hands right now, I’m going to give you the most elaborate event first. 

When I was 18 years old, I went to Disney World with my mom, dad, and best friend.   We went to Disney’s Hollywood Studios the first day and it was great.  Even though it is distinctly the weakest of the four parks, you really can’t go wrong with the Tower of Terror and the Rock n’ ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLercoster [Man, it would be so cool if Disney actually spelled it that way].  We had lunch reservations at the Prime Time Café.  The point of the café is that the employees act like it’s still the ‘50’s, minus the racism and McCarthyism.  As we were led to our table by the hostess, we were told that this was “Ma’s place” and that we had to follow Ma’s rules.  We got to our table and saw that there were little televisions everywhere, all of them playing the same clips of 1950s television.  It was, in theory, a very fun little place.

When our waiter (I’m going to call him Joey, although I forget if that’s really his name) showed up, he told us Ma’s rules.  They were approximately as follows:

1) No elbows on the table

      2) Eat all your vegetables

      3) Clean your plate.

The second rule seems redundant in light of the third rule, but in retrospect it’s very possible that he really meant “Eat all your vegetables first.”  Anyway, my family smiled and nodded and agreed to all the rules, then promptly forgot all about them for five minutes.  What we didn’t know was that Joey was serious. 

We were distinctly more careful about our elbows after that.  It’s amazing how intimidating a Disney employee in his mid-twenties can be. 

Our food arrived a little while later.  I had ordered a chicken pot pie in a bowl.  It was delicious, so I was guaranteed to clean my plate, and because there were no side dishes, I didn’t have to worry about eating all my vegetables.  I was totally solid. 

We all sat at the table happily eating our food when Joey came back.  “I see you haven’t eaten all your vegetables,” he said to me.  I looked at my half-eaten pot pie, confused, and then saw the offending vegetable.

A single pea.  A single pea was visible on the surface of my pot pie.  I want to make something very clear about pot pies.  THEY ARE MEANT TO BE FILLED WITH VEGETABLES.  YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO PICK THEM ALL OUT FIRST.  THAT WOULD BE INCREDIBLY TEDIOUS AND AGAINST THE PURPOSE OF THE PIE.  But Joey didn’t care.  Before I knew what was happening, Joey walked up next to my chair, grabbed my fork, scooped up the pea and the surrounding pie, and held the loaded fork in front of me. 

Finally, my social survival instincts overwhelmed the embarrassment-induced freeze.  I ate the pea.

Joey left the table right after that.  Let me tell you, I don’t think I’ve ever eaten as fast as I did in the minutes after the choo-choo incident.  I made darn well sure that the plate would be absolutely clean and that my elbows would be off the table when he returned.  I succeeded.  When Joey came back, I was ready, but there was one factor I couldn’t control: my mother.

Things got kind of blurry after that.  Joey and my parents joked around a bit about long-distance relationships.  I’m pretty sure that I found a nice spot on the table to give my attention to.  I was all too happy to get out of that restaurant when it was time to leave.

I promised to get revenge on my mother that would arrive five years after the event.  I wonder if she’s forgotten…I certainly haven’t.