Nuts

My daughter, Anne, and I usually attend church on Saturday evenings. After church, it has become our routine to eat out for dinner. Recently, we have been dining at the Texas Roadhouse. We have enjoyed the franchise for many years, since even before the location where we now eat was established, and we feel very comfortable there.

Tonight, Anne took The Great Gatsby into dinner with us. Although we had called ahead from the car, we knew there would be a little bit of a wait for our seat. There is always a wait on Saturday nights. When we finally got to our table, a pleasant young waitress took out drink orders almost immediately. When she asked if either of us wanted something to "drink," I explained that Anne is too young to drive and I would not be drinking because I was driving. (The young woman seemed to approve of my responsible answer.)

After our server walked away, Anne opened her book to continue reading while I paused to look at two buckets on our table. One of the buckets was full of peanuts. The other bucket was completely empty. Knowing from many years of franchise patronage that the accepted norm is to cast shells onto the floor as the peanuts are opened, and looking forward to that bit of harmless fun, I raised an eyebrow. Glancing quickly around the section at the other booths, I noted that our table seemed to be the only one with a second bucket. A second (and empty!) bucket on my table was just not right. Had somebody forgotten to fill it?

Looking directly at Anne, I slid the full bucket into the empty one, saying, "Mm hmm... They think they can trick me into putting my peanut shells into this empty bucket if they leave it on my table.... But they are Wrong."

Anne glanced up at me, then shook her head as she turned back to her book. "This is my mother," she commented to herself, "who thinks she is a grown-up."

Peeling a peanut, I ignored the comment. I popped the nut into my mouth, then looked at the floor for the barest spot so that I could aim my shell to fill that spot. The whole floor was clean, with a few shells only around the edges of it. (It must have been recently swept.) Alas, it looked like I would need to eat a lot of peanuts to fill that floor with shells.

I began by aiming at a spot beside the booth behind Anne. Then I threw one right off the side of our booth. After that, I nonchalantly cast one onto the floor beside the booth behind me. It was tedious work, but I was having a pretty good time spreading shells uniformly over the floor as Anne tried her best to ignore the child-like enjoyment of her not-so-famous [yet] "celebrity" mother.

As I happily continued with my innocent self-amusement, I noticed out of the corner of my eye there was another hand carefully dropping peanut shells onto the floor. Those shells inconspicuously dropped into a small pile a few booths down and across the aisle, right next to a wall.

My eyes followed the hand up an arm, to the face of a man in a far booth who was watching me as I carefully broadcast my peanut shells across the floor. Emotionless, dark disks locked with my eyes. What were the thoughts behind them? I wonder. I paused momentarily before I allowed the corners of my mouth to twist upwards in a slight smile, then tossed my peanut shell exactly where I had originally intended. Expressionless, he looked towards his wife. I turned back to my peanuts. I was not finished enjoying them yet.

Moments later, right before our server came with our dinner orders, Anne's resolve to ignore her playful-spirited mother finally broke. She put down her book, shelled a peanut, ate it and cast the shell to the floor.

I grinned, "Thanks for helping."

Anne shrugged. She must have figured she was safer to humor the good-natured "nut job" than not.