LJI: The Unread Riot Acts of Bewize
Did you ever see the Disney cartoon where Donald Duck went to Mathematics Land, which looked a lot like Disney's version of Wonderland? That cartoon really impressed me as a child, but not the bits about math or science. No, I was struck and forever branded with the image of the brain being a storage room. In the cartoon, Donald had to "clean out" his brain to make room for more important things (like math), but the cartoon image showed brooms and dustpans magically going to work.
Viola.
I have forever thought of the brain as that storage room (only more updated and modern now, like from Inside Out, of course).
All of this lead up should help explain why there is a file in my brain called "The Unread Riot Acts." Simply put, it's the storage space for where all of my unspoken outrage goes. I literally will picture binding it up, like a book, and putting it on that shelf - rather than speaking my outrage aloud into existence in the world.
For example, let's take dinner last night. The boyfriend, baby and I took a really good friend out to dinner. We went to a new restaurant with good reviews to receive probably the worst service I've had anywhere in a while.
The server kept vanishing - and the restaurant wasn't that full. She wasn't in the weeds - she was just not on top of her game. The food took a long time to come out. The plates the food was served on were extremely hot - probably to disguise the lukewarm food.
So, picture it. Three adults in a booth. A baby in a highchair at the end of the booth. The server kept setting EVERYTHING in front of the baby. Now, if you have children (or have been a server), you know this is a poor choice. Everything - and I mean EVERYTHING - is immediately grabbed, groped, crunched and eventually hurled to the floor.
The three adults keep moving things out of his reach, but this server just kept setting things down there, oblivious.
By the time my food came out (which was second to last, because it made perfect sense to feed the baby last), there was no space left on the table to hide another hot plate. The server marched over, hot plate firmly grasped in oven mitts and prepared to set it on the only clear space left - right in front of the baby.
Now, she was present and (theoretically) cognizant of the discussions we'd had about the two previous hot plates She witnessed our scramble to keep the baby from putting his hands on them.
So, I said - and I was speaking mildly - "You cannot set a hot plate like that in front of the baby."
She looks at me and said, with some attitude, I will add. "Well - where do you suggest I put it?"
Just like that - BOOM - the Riot Script was written.
I had suggestions of where she could put that plate, y'all. I had SO. MANY. SUGGESTIONS.
I also had commentary on her service, her attitude, the speed of service and a few other choice observations.
I am not normally reticent to share my suggestions or observations. That's not my speed. But... we were celebrating and I didn't want to make a scene. So, I took a deep breath and said...
NOTHING.
I just stared at this girl until she suggested setting the hot plate on an empty table behind us. I nodded my head, pursed my lips a bit, and said, "That seems like a wise choice."
I am not sure how she interpreted that interaction. I am sure that the manager was the one who served our table for the rest of our meal. I am sure that my friend across the table was amused at my superior show of self control. I am sure that, as I sat there and mentally wrapped up the Riot Act for the shelf in the brain, I suddenly knew what I was going to write for Idol.
I suspect that this naive (idiotic), young (moronic), unobservant (clueless) server (nitwit) felt the icy breath of her demise on her neck. I suspect she realized that she nearly experienced what I call a "Come to Jesus Moment." I suspect that she couldn't quite settle the shake in her knees and thus, had to be excused from serving us for the remainder of our meal.
I also reinforced my own belief that sometimes, an unread Riot Act is as effective - or even more so - than one that is read aloud.
So now, the shelf has one more bound act sitting, gathering dust. It's next to the Unread Riot Act of "Explain how 'I'll do it Tuesday' means Friday," and "If you're late to the doctor, we cancel you and charge you; but if you sit here an hour, you just have to eat it." It's stacked on top of "Amazon promised you'd have this package tomorrow, but they lied," and "So what if you asked for no meat, that bacon is just a garnish."
If we're lucky, the shelf will remain untouched and un-added to for a while. At least the remainder of the day. If we're lucky.
But, who among us is that lucky?
This entry was written for therealljidol 03: "Tsundoku." According to Google: Tsundoku (Japanese: 積ん読) is acquiring reading materials but letting them pile up in one's home without reading them. If there is voting, I will share the poll. Thanks.
Viola.
I have forever thought of the brain as that storage room (only more updated and modern now, like from Inside Out, of course).
All of this lead up should help explain why there is a file in my brain called "The Unread Riot Acts." Simply put, it's the storage space for where all of my unspoken outrage goes. I literally will picture binding it up, like a book, and putting it on that shelf - rather than speaking my outrage aloud into existence in the world.
For example, let's take dinner last night. The boyfriend, baby and I took a really good friend out to dinner. We went to a new restaurant with good reviews to receive probably the worst service I've had anywhere in a while.
The server kept vanishing - and the restaurant wasn't that full. She wasn't in the weeds - she was just not on top of her game. The food took a long time to come out. The plates the food was served on were extremely hot - probably to disguise the lukewarm food.
So, picture it. Three adults in a booth. A baby in a highchair at the end of the booth. The server kept setting EVERYTHING in front of the baby. Now, if you have children (or have been a server), you know this is a poor choice. Everything - and I mean EVERYTHING - is immediately grabbed, groped, crunched and eventually hurled to the floor.
The three adults keep moving things out of his reach, but this server just kept setting things down there, oblivious.
By the time my food came out (which was second to last, because it made perfect sense to feed the baby last), there was no space left on the table to hide another hot plate. The server marched over, hot plate firmly grasped in oven mitts and prepared to set it on the only clear space left - right in front of the baby.
Now, she was present and (theoretically) cognizant of the discussions we'd had about the two previous hot plates She witnessed our scramble to keep the baby from putting his hands on them.
So, I said - and I was speaking mildly - "You cannot set a hot plate like that in front of the baby."
She looks at me and said, with some attitude, I will add. "Well - where do you suggest I put it?"
Just like that - BOOM - the Riot Script was written.
I had suggestions of where she could put that plate, y'all. I had SO. MANY. SUGGESTIONS.
I also had commentary on her service, her attitude, the speed of service and a few other choice observations.
I am not normally reticent to share my suggestions or observations. That's not my speed. But... we were celebrating and I didn't want to make a scene. So, I took a deep breath and said...
NOTHING.
I just stared at this girl until she suggested setting the hot plate on an empty table behind us. I nodded my head, pursed my lips a bit, and said, "That seems like a wise choice."
I am not sure how she interpreted that interaction. I am sure that the manager was the one who served our table for the rest of our meal. I am sure that my friend across the table was amused at my superior show of self control. I am sure that, as I sat there and mentally wrapped up the Riot Act for the shelf in the brain, I suddenly knew what I was going to write for Idol.
I suspect that this naive (idiotic), young (moronic), unobservant (clueless) server (nitwit) felt the icy breath of her demise on her neck. I suspect she realized that she nearly experienced what I call a "Come to Jesus Moment." I suspect that she couldn't quite settle the shake in her knees and thus, had to be excused from serving us for the remainder of our meal.
I also reinforced my own belief that sometimes, an unread Riot Act is as effective - or even more so - than one that is read aloud.
So now, the shelf has one more bound act sitting, gathering dust. It's next to the Unread Riot Act of "Explain how 'I'll do it Tuesday' means Friday," and "If you're late to the doctor, we cancel you and charge you; but if you sit here an hour, you just have to eat it." It's stacked on top of "Amazon promised you'd have this package tomorrow, but they lied," and "So what if you asked for no meat, that bacon is just a garnish."
If we're lucky, the shelf will remain untouched and un-added to for a while. At least the remainder of the day. If we're lucky.
But, who among us is that lucky?
This entry was written for therealljidol 03: "Tsundoku." According to Google: Tsundoku (Japanese: 積ん読) is acquiring reading materials but letting them pile up in one's home without reading them. If there is voting, I will share the poll. Thanks.