The bad girl in this post is me.
When I was home over the summer, I went with my dad, his girlfriend and S to a place in San Diego that does a great seafood Happy Hour. We drank pomegranate margaritas and ate fresh ceviche and calamari.
We got there right at the beginning of happy hour, and as we were being served our order, people were starting to line up to get tables. This restaurant is on the second floor of a building, not even close to the beach, and it was filling up quick. Word had obviously spread.
Sitting in our booth, people watching as I like to do, I saw a couple make their way to a table. She was, in my mind, what many Italians think (and especially the men hope) they will see on any street in California – a typical SoCal blonde that makes all the stereotypes continue to be valid. Stick thin, she had long blond hair leaning towards the appearance of straw with the highlights-lowlights-middlelights she had in it, and a teeny miniskirt. She also carried a pink designer purse. With a little dog sticking out, a la “Legally Blonde.”
Except this wasn’t a movie, and she wasn’t Reese Witherspoon.
I immediately got annoyed because it was obvious they drove to the restaurant, and it wasn’t a We’re-out-walking-with-the-dog-and-now-we’re-hungry-and-oops-lets-stop-here-and-eat kind of thing – she took her dog from its (hopefully) comfortable home complete with platinum food bowl and cashmere snuggly blanket and stuffed it into a pink bag (probably bought on purpose for said dog) so she could have a “dog-as-accessory” for her happy hour and follow in the immortal fashion footsteps of Paris Hilton.
I was astonished that she would do something like that and even more astonished that it was allowed in a food-serving establishment. But what did I know? Being out of the country for three years, you lose touch with laws and regulations regarding these things (like when I came home one Christmas and got one of those new multicolored $20 bills).
I turned to my Dad. “I didn’t know you could bring a dog into a restaurant!”
“There’s a dog in here?” The waitress, who was currently serving us another round of drinks, looked wildly around the restaurant.
Oops, the waitress had overheard.
Ok, not oops. I admit it. I did time my comment on purpose.
I immediately felt bad about being so catty (ack, pun) but I wasn’t sorry enough not to follow through. I half expected her to say, “Sure, as long as they’re out on the balcony” or “Duh, this is a beach town.”
But she didn’t. And she sniffed out (heh) the dog-carrying offender before I could even point to her.
Instead of confronting the girl herself, the waitress mentioned it to her manager who immediately stepped over to the couple and informed them that they could not stay with a dog.
I did feel bad as they walked out of the restaurant, but I think if people continue to do stupid things like that and no one says anything, it’s worse. It validates their pitiful attempts at increasing their self-worth. Hopefully they found find a dog-friendly outdoor caf