An innocuous Sunday outing for breakfast and an encounter with the chica in the red Mini Cooper had my neurotically creative juices flowing. And while my dear wife laughed at my snarky commentary, I reminded her that this is what I do; observe the human condition.
We pull into the Tulum/Holbox-inspired breakfast restaurant in Temozon Norte named “freedom” in Spanish and are impressed and supremely surprised that there are no bleary-eyed people sitting in the little plastic detention-style chairs by the road, waiting to be summoned inside for their huevos and waffles. Usually, there is a wait of at least 30 minutes. Our progress through the parking lot is halted by a young whitexican (thanks Alex) of the female sort maneuvering a shiny red Mini Cooper, with not much success, into the space right by the front door, because evidently walking will require far too much effort. There are plenty of spaces under the trees a scant 25 meters away, but no, she has to put on a demonstration of her driving skills in front of us and the entire restaurant. After several attempts including the tires jumping over a raised sidewalk, she manages to back the shiny thing into where she wants it to minimize those exhausting steps from car to restaurant front door.
This becomes even more ironic when she steps out and we can appreciate her purple spandex gym outfit painted over her lithe form. Obviously she has just come from a gym or some sort of exercise event and is so drained that now she just does not have the energy to negotiate those extra steps to breakfast.
Once we are seated and enjoying a great cup of strong coffee I observe at the next table a young couple with a small child in a high chair. The child is glued to a cartoon on the iPad while the parents enjoy their breakfast. Every once in a while, the child’s eyes never leaving the screen, it opens its mouth – robot-like – and mom shovels something into it. I begin to wonder, like the old person I am, what the hell is wrong with people today that they are raising little video-addicted automatons who will have no clue about how to behave in a restaurant when they grow older.
After watching the couple that arrived after us get their breakfast, my food finally arrives but my dear wife’s doesn’t. I stare at my “chilaquiles gourmet”, thinking about the totopos getting soggy for a while, then get up to ask the guy who appears to be the manager about the other breakfast as I, well, don’t want to eat alone. He apologizes and indicates that it is coming, and soon enough my dear wife has her huevos benedictinos and we happily eat. The food is very good and the portions are huge.
The young couple at the next table finishes and gets up, wishing us “buen provecho” and their act of civil courtesy makes me regret having judged their parenting skills and also realize that I have officially become the grumpy old man. Oh well.
Onwards and upwards.