It’s Friday night – date night to many of you out there. Joe Schmidt: ladies’ man, man’s man, man about the cereal box, talks about the power of an Italian restaurant. Before you start playing footsies under the table, remember the Orange Karen Anthology submission deadline is coming up on December 15th.
Scenes From An Italian Restaurant
My wife and I recently went to a certain chain Italian restaurant. While eating at said establishment I noticed something puzzling.
There was a shit-ton of teenage kids with dates.
Young boys and girls, some that looked barely old enough to drive—sitting down, dressed to impress, and cramming bread sticks into their mouths. Everywhere I looked there they were, engaging in light conversation—looking at themselves over sodas.
It wasn’t until I witnessed one teenage girl move her blond hair to the side that it struck me.
This chain restaurant, this Gawd damn restaurant—with its all you can eat soup and salad, and free wine samples—this restaurant had morphed into a powerful weapon for young guys everywhere.
It wasn’t a weapon in the traditional sense. Its purpose wasn’t to kill or maim.
It did however up the chance that these young guys, with their trendy outfits, and piece of shit vehicles, were going to get laid.
Did I miss the note that was obviously passed around—that told every horny teenage guy, that the simple equation to getting laid or a handy at the movies was to take your date to this Italian chain restaurant?
Being young and with a limited income, I would guess that options would be few.
And I suppose I could see how taking your dates to a place like this, might somehow manage to help slide your date’s panties off—but trying that shit as an adult?
That was what made me laugh when I looked over all the tables of young adults that were engaging in the ancient art of courtship. They were at that beautiful times in their lives were the most expensive and high class joint their boyfriends/girlfriends could bring them was a restaurant that employed cooks that were anything but Italian.
As an adult the game changes drastically, the idea that somehow after we paid the check that my wife would be willing to give me road head on the way home was a joke. Things were more sophisticated now; I had graduated to more exotic fare. The days of being able to rely on this place to help me in my quest to get some ass had long passed.
To teenagers this restaurant may be their golden ticket, but adults this place was just another blip on the screen of a long line of last minute places to eat.
Maybe I wasn’t being fair.
Maybe, just maybe there was something more innocent to all of this.
I mean after all, not every young kid is looking to use this restaurant as a tool to help themselves get laid right?
That’s when I watched as one young guy looked over to another young guy that was seated at an opposite table.
Their eyes met and almost on cue they both head bobbed quickly at the other—a slight smirk on their faces.
And I remember thinking as I reached for my beer.
That I really should have paid more attention to that note.
Sugarballs, my first book, should be arriving sometime in 2013 It’s a humorous look at cereal, boobs, dry-humping, and haunted apartments.