January 5, 2014 Article

The Old Coot experiences the big squeeze

By Merlin Lessler

      I went to a luncheon the other day. There were 14 of us. We called ahead for a reservation. When I walked in, the table was set up: 14 placemats, silverware sets, napkins and water glasses graced the surface. Fourteen chairs lined the table. There wasn’t an inch between them. I took a seat. I had to pull the chair out, get in front of it and then go through a few contortions in order to pull the chair from behind me while lowering my body to meet it as it came forward.  I felt as awkward as a newborn colt gaining its feet for the first time. Thankfully, I was the first one there and nobody saw the graceless maneuver. Old coots are always the first ones there. We’re the only people left who think being on time is good manners.

 The rest of the gang straggled in and went through similar contortions to get themselves seated. I chuckled each time. Some were a lot less graceful than me. Eventually, all 14 of us were seated. We looked like a collage of artificial people. Our arms were at our sides, our backs erect and our faces forward. We didn’t have enough room to be anything but erect and proper. The lunch was brutal. I don’t know how the food was; I was intensely focused on the chore of using a knife and a fork while keeping my elbows from crashing into my neighbors. I looked like a praying mantis with its’ front paws pulled together in prayer.

      It took me five minutes to spear a French fry, dip it in ketchup and maneuver it to my mouth. Some of my fellow diners weren’t quite so polite. They dug in as though there were three feet between them and the person next to them. Unfortunately, one of them sat next to me. My arms and side still sport the black and blue marks.

      Even the conversation was affected by the lack of space. When you sit at a table with your elbows pulled together so they are almost touching as you maneuver food on a plate in front of you, your whole being feels pinched. It limits your thought process and forces you to speak in a high-pitched squeaky voice. I said something to the guy across the table from me and wondered. “Who said that?” I didn’t recognize my own voice. The lunch ended early. We all wondered why we thought it was such a good idea for old friends to get together. I’d managed to eat three French fries and take two bites out of my hamburger. It was all I could accomplish in a straight jacket.

     The next time I phone for a reservation, I’m going to request a table for 18 and remove four chairs when I arrive. I’ll tell the maitre d’ the other four couldn’t make it; they haven’t healed from the beating they took the last time we were here.