A Poor Seating Layout Brought It To This Point

I went to dinner yesterday evening with Dave, a friend of mine who is visiting L.A. for the week. We went to a restaurant in Los Feliz called Home. Seeing as how that morning he had woken up in 10 degree weather in D.C., he thought it would be fun to sit outside. The extensive availability of patio dining is a unique feature of southern California living that I had never expected. Not to say it lacks logic; it makes perfect sense. I just never pieced together the fact that constantly temperate weather, combined with well placed propane heat lamps, would allow for increased al fresco opportunities.

The seemingly-stoned waiter waved vaguely at the area around him. "Anywhere you like." In response Dave and I bounded across the patio, looking for the best of the surprisingly diverse options. High stools? Low table? Curvy booth! Curvy booth always wins.

The problem: the only curvy booth available was in the corner of the patio, right next to a small table where a lone man sat reading a Philip K. Dick book. That in and of itself isn't a problem - there's no shame in dining alone, and what kind of person hasn't read Do Androids Dream In Electric Sheep? No, the issue stemmed from the fact that neither Dave nor I realized that once we sat down at the booth we would be practically hovering over this guy. His chair, not pushed back remarkably far from his table, stood almost flush against the side of Dave's booth seat.

While recognizing the potential awkwardness, Dave and I acted as we would normally. Which means conversing about life fragments both critical and banal. And our volume - well, neither of us frequently get asked, "Can you speak up? I couldn't hear you." As we got into a perfectly acceptable, PG-rated conversation, the guy shot a glance, but didn't say a word. After a few minutes, he called the waitress over, asked if he could move, trundled up his bag, book and beverage and moved to a small empty table near the patio's central fountain.

While I had a good time and really enjoyed seeing Dave, I spent the rest of the meal thinking about how this had shaken down. Which is sort of stupid. I mean, so what? We weren't being rude. We didn't arrange the tables this way. And this was the only curvy booth available. There were plenty of two-person low tables for the picking. If we bothered him (and we did), he could just move (and he did). No big deal.

But then again, I couldn't help wanting to apologize. All this guy wanted was to read his science fiction and have a quiet meal in peace. Instead, he got shuffled out of his chair and displaced across the patio. Sure, he could just slide back into his book after a couple of minutes of internal fuming - but I still felt bad that I had interfered with his solitude. We all have moments when the last thing we want is someone intruding into your life.

I spend more than enough time complaining about jerks acting jerky, reciting laments of how their random jerkitude ruined something for me. On this hip L.A. patio on this particular March night, with absolutely no intention whatsoever, I felt that I had become the person that I complain about. And that's unfortunate, no matter how good the waffle fries were.

Why I Am Awesome: The fact that I spent any mental energy feeling bad for this guy and wondering if I had committed some sort of passive offense in this situation shows that I have more empathy and self-awareness than most people. Also, he moved and I didn't, and I got to enjoy a curvy booth. Two points for ptm.

Why I Am Not Awesome: I have never read Do Androids Dream In Electric Sheep?