Sandwich of Ruin!

Labor Day Weekend Recap, In As Many Parts As I Can Steal Away From Work, Part I

The scene:

9:30 p.m. -- Friday evening. Roseville, Minn. The Har-Mar Mall. Old Chicago restaurant. Mel and I have just ordered food and drinks. Beside us, a large table is in the process of being occupied by a father and his six, SIX, very young children. I mean, we're talking children who, if they were delivered by the same woman, they had to be born in consecutive years.

9:35 p.m. -- Mel and I decide that, although the man is no doubt the father of all six children, there is no way in all holy hell that they're all from the same mother. If so, she's probably at home right now, either recuperating, or giving birth to their seventh child.

9:37 p.m. -- The father is calm and collected at first, apparently at ease dealing with the six tiny human beings seated around him calling him "Dad." They're apparently out and about celebrating something, a birthday perhaps, which is entirely possible, given the sheer number of children.

9:38 p.m. -- The father orders drinks: sodas for the three oldest children, which I think is a mistake, given the caffeine consideration, and the fact that it's nearly 10 p.m. For the other children, he orders water. For himself, he orders a large, 25 ounce beer.

9:40 p.m. -- The children demand that the father take a picture of all of them. The father complies, taking a digital picture of his clan of offspring. Because it's a digital picture, every child wants to see the little image of themselves broadcast on the back of the camera. Every child is shown the image, except for the two-year old girl at the end of the table, who is too far away.

9:41 p.m. -- The two-year old girl at the end of the table, upset that every other sibling had the opportunity to see the picture, begins to cry. Loudly. So loudly, in fact, that everybody in the restaurant takes notice.

9:43 p.m. -- The father, unable to soothe his daughter verbally from his position down the table, finally stands up and shows the little girl the picture.

9:43 p.m. -- The father says to his gorgeous little daughter "There, that's what you look like. Now shut your mouth!"

9:43 p.m. -- The girl continues to cry, at a far louder decible level. Apparently, being told to "shut your mouth" does not soothe a cranky toddler.

9:43 p.m. -- With his father now dealing with his sister at the end of the table, the youngest sibling, in his high chair, decides that his dad is sufficiently distracted enough that he now has the opportunity to sip from his father's 25 ounce beer. He drags the behemoth mug to his lips and begins to drink, apparently enjoying the carbonated beverage.

9:43 p.m. -- The father, having given up momentarily on his wailing daughter, notices that his youngest loin-fruit is happily drinking his beer. Whether he's mortified that a one year old is drinking a beer, or he's mortified that a one year old is drinking HIS beer, is uncertain; whatever the case, the father acts quickly, snatching the mug from his son with a stern "What the hell are you doing?!!"

9:44 p.m. -- The wailing daughter continues her wailing, while two other children start fencing with table knives. The father, now paranoid about the well-being of his beer, opts to chastise his daughter from afar, which only serves to make her cry even more.

9:45 p.m. -- One of the table knife fencing youths scores a hit, causing the other child to start wailing in pain. Two other children, thinking that table knife fencing is the thing to do, start table knife fencing themselves.

9:46 p.m. -- The father issues an ultimatum: if any child at the table starts, or continues to partipate in, table knife fencing, they will forfeit dinner. The daughter at the end of the table continues to cry, while the high chair youngster attempts, unsuccessfully, to grab at his father's beer.

9:48 p.m. -- The father turns his attention, again, to his crying daughter at the end of the table. He takes another picture of her, and then shows her the picture, saying "See? See how stupid you look? Stop crying! Stop looking so stupid!" Not surprisingly, the little girl cries even louder.

9:50 p.m. -- The father has had enough. He puts the oldest boy in charge, who is, at most, seven years old. The father then takes his crying daughter outside, but not before he puts his beer out of reach of his thirsty youngest child. This, of course, causes his youngest child to start crying.

9:51 p.m. -- The boy who is now in charge issues a proclamation of his own, apparently channeling his father's personality: "I'm in charge now! If you cause any trouble, you come over here, and I'll smack you!"

9:53 p.m. -- Mayhem ensues at the table adjacent to ours.

9:54 p.m. -- Ryan Rhodes makes a secret pact with himself to get a vasectomy as soon as is humanly possible.

Posted by Ryan at September 7, 2004 10:58 AM