People-Watching

Two things stuck out to me, and these two things made him a perfect subject for my studies. Firstly, he had a glowing cigarette tucked behind his ear, and upon further inspection, I found it was a fake. Secondly, the man was slurring so badly he sounded like a toddler. When the man sat down to the table next to ours, he told my brother not to eat too messily lest he get food on his caramel-colored sports coat. Then he turned to his tablemates and said something along the lines of “nothinglikagoodmargaritafbeforedinner!” He gave a goofy chortle into his water goblet. My brother and I settled in for the show.

I don’t recall where we came up with the name Mr. Richard. It just suited his curly white hair, vegetable-sized nose, and square glasses. He had an expensive looking watch on his wrist, which kept flicking the air like he was getting rid of his worries. His tablemates, a man that appeared to be his brother and possibly his (much) younger wife, held hands underneath the table while covering their mouths with their free fingers.

As I buttered a slice of bread, Mr. Richard was waving over the nearest person behind him, a waiter as it was. He explained the mechanics of his nifty cigarette device. “Disisthebatt’ry,” he garbled, “andthisisthecompurer.” A computer, inside an electric cigarette! Imagine! “Andthisiswhatyousmoke. Youcanputdifferntthingsinnittoo. Itdunthaftabenicotine.” “SometimesIlikementhol. YeahsometimesIlikethat. Todaythough, todaytheresnothininere. Imsmokinjusairanitkeepsmesatisfied.”

Sure, that and the alcohol. He certainly looked satisfied, really pleased with himself. Maybe it was the fact that he managed to explicate the mysterious contents of his magical cigarette without passing out on the tablecloth.

The waiter left to perform other important duties but the man blabbed on. He talked about the cost of his cigarette, how it helped him improve his habit, his favorite flavors, and where to land the best deals. He talked about how he loved to smoke in his car because he didn’t have to worry about entertaining people he wasn’t partial to and could just let his mind go fuzzy in a cloud of smoke. Well, he didn’t say it quite like that. When he said it, it had a few less words, more slurs, and a tad bit of profanity. “Yessss,” he said. “Thiscigaretteismybesfriend!” And he inhaled deeply.

Throughout dinner, the man had quite a few more things to share. We heard how the daughter of so-and-so was just “diagnosed” pregnant and she’s just sixteen or seventeen or eighteen or something. On this subject he expressed disappointment – with a big lippy smile on his face – and finished with, “I’m Italian! We’re an emotional people.”

We heard how he is still friends with all of his ex-wives, how he owns three houses, and how he feel s about abortion. And all the time, using such robust hand gestures! I was scared he would soon knock over a tray of food as it passed. A rain of scallop risotto and Chicken Marsala would fall on him in a goopy mess (although I imagine the amount of cream in those dishes would soothe his wicked sunburn.)

At one point, I really had to pee, but I didn’t want to miss any of the action. Instead, I kept furiously scribbling my observations and his quotes: “Ordered antipasto plate. Piece of cured ham stuck to chin.”

When our entrees came, he was still talking up a storm. I discovered that in his spare time he liked to watch football and “mess around in the kitchen,” whatever that means. He gave his opinion on many things, including buying in bulk, middle eastern relations, and breast implants. when there was a discrepancy over their liquor bill, a different waitress got to experiences his sass. She was doomed from the beginning, apologizing profusely in broken English. And when she retreated back to the kitchen, Mr. Richard took another go at his cigarette and gave his opinion on Polynesians.

The woman at the table leaned over and whispered something I couldn’t catch. But I figured it out easily enough when Mr. Richard laughed loudly and shouted “Hellno! Analcoholicwouldhavapaperbagroundthislittleguy!” He held up his wine glass and happily cursed the alcoholics of the world. Then he signaled for more wine.

When the time came, he ordered four desserts: chocolate cake, tiramisu, vanilla ice cream, and something with strawberries. Then he flagged another victim over and asked three times to make sure his coffee was decaf, is it decaf, are you sure its decaf? I couldn’t stick around to see how he took his coffee, because I really needed to pee.