Mrs. Noiswater and I were having breakfast a little while back in this great Greek diner in Chicago where you can get around 38 different egg skillets. As long as I have been going in there, which is about as long as I've been writing on this blog page, it has been run by a middle aged Greek American with a thick Chicago accent who runs around there trying to run the whole place in his pajama pants.
On this day he was hollering at one of his staff members in a way that was making us uncomfortable, and this is not a side I had ever seen in him. He is usually very busy and short with people to an extent but always very polite. On this day he laid into this poor waitress and told her exactly what he though of her and performance for all his customers to hear. "The toilet's clogged? Well go plunge it! Ah, go ahead and cry in the bathroom or whatever it is you do," he said to her as she ran towards the kitchen. Then he warned someone never to have a daughter, or something to that effect. So, we gathered that this was daughter he was lambasting.
Then when we brought our bill up to the counter to ring up, he went right back to his usual charming self. He even commented on how pretty Mrs. Noisewater was and asked if she had a single mom around and winked at me. What a smoothie! But Mrs. Noisewater's mom is happily married. Sorry Pajama Pants.
Well, I'll give the guy a pass because he has been nice every other time I have seen him, maybe this daughter of his really is a pain in the butt, and he does grill up a mean skillet.
What do you think, readers? Do we get some a-hole liberties when interacting with our own families?