DISHONESTY

(June 8, 2005)

There is no doubt about it. I've got some issues about eating out, or, as a friend of mine once put it, dining out.

There is a difference. You are eating out if you go through the drive-thru at McDonalds, or for Chinese take-out. But that is not dining out. It's simply eating out, with the emphasis of course on the word eating.

Dining out is another matter entirely. You are not just eating; you're dining, which means you have someone serve you, and constantly interrupt you with questions about your meal, if everything's okay, and so on.

The thing that I dislike the most about dining out is the fake familiarity the waiters and waitresses are always trying to pawn off on you. I find it almost sickening. We all know that the only reason they're doing it is because they want a good tip (and I don't mean on a horse). They want a gratuity, something extra in their pay. (Yes, I do understand that they're not paid very much to begin with, and their tips are absolutely necessary for any kind of decent income for them.)

I think what I'm trying to say is that it's very disturbing that we're actually paying people to be dishonest with us. I know, that may be a negative way of looking at it, but it's applicable just the same. The waiters and waitresses who act so obsequious and fawning at our table would very likely snub their noses at us under other circumstances, outside the context of their employment.

There is something about this that bothers me. And I no sooner say it than I feel incredibly stupid for bringing it up, because it's not likely to make any difference to anyone anywhere. It's just the way things are. I suppose human beings have been ingratiating and patronizing with each other for a long time now. Maybe I'm a fool to yearn for some honesty in human relations. There certainly doesn't seem to be a whole lot of it in relationships of the romantic variety, which seem to be based on dishonesty from the very outset.

In fact, one sometimes gets the impression that total honesty is the last thing we need be concerned with at the beginning of a romance. Most of them would never happen if everyone engaged in heartless truthfulness. Guys wouldn’t bother to shower and shave and be on their best behavior, ever mindful about uttering the socially unacceptable epithets that they’ve no doubt been spewing forth all day, right up until the time of their date. And the gals? I don’t even like to think about what they might be hiding. I have always put women on pedestals for some reason, always believed that they were somehow better than men. I know, they’re probably not. But I don’t want to know about it if they’re not. There, you see. I even want some dishonesty myself. So who am I to talk about waiters and waitresses feigning interest in my meal, whether or not it’s to my liking, if I’d like some dessert, or a re-fill of my coffee cup? Instead of telling them all to shut the hell up, maybe I should tell myself to shut the hell up, go somewhere and grab a bite to eat and forget the whole thing.