So, it’s my birthday. Yeah, I’m pretty excited too. I woke up and didn’t go running because I had too much to do before picking up my parents to embark on our California road trip. I was running late because....I was. I was also certain that my dad was going to be all pissy because I was running late. Fortunately for me, he was in a good mood because my breakfast suggestion was a huge success. Thank you, Sears Fine Foods. I’ve never been there myself, but apparently I should go sometime!
So, everything was going pretty well. I managed to squelch their bad passenger habits yesterday when I immediately yelled at my mom for her incessant backseat driving: "That car is changing lanes! OH! OH! That car is rolling back at the stop sign! There’s a man 12 blocks away, crossing the street. You are in the middle lane and there are cars around you! This is a hill! You have to turn! Stop sign! Don’t drive in the dark! Never leave your house after dusk!" Okay, so the last one is actually something she used to tell me in college, apparently without realizing that the sun went down at 3:45 in the winter, so to not leave my dorm room after dusk meant to go without food since dinner didn’t start until 4:45.
As I was saying, everything was going fine. They were doing an excellent job of keeping their traps shut. The only issue was that of food. It’s too expensive, and regardless of what I choose, my dad will not be pleased. He’s a picky eater, but not in that foodie sort of way. He just likes three things, and two of them are fried, and none of them are green. Well, actually he does like a fried green thing (okra, in case you are wondering), but that’s not my point here. What I’m trying to get at is that I stress, STRESS, over picking meals for my parents (my mom has the added issue of only being able to eat steamed vegetables and nuts). To be honest, I hate picking restaurants for anyone. Nine times out of ten, I choose a stinker. I especially hate choosing restaurants for picky people that think they are willing to eat anything...until they get into the restaurant. But I digress... We had fish and chips for lunch. It was good. It was over-priced. It made all of us want to sleep.
Now, when I embarked on this birthday expedition, I was under the impression (which I’m starting to think was a false one) that I wouldn’t do the majority of the driving once we left the city. In case you hadn’t already figured it out, driving with my parents is nothing short of tense. The only thing that saved me with driving in San Francisco was the day five years ago when my dad drove (a very short distance) in the city and decided he never wanted to do that again. After that, he stopped complaining and directing me. Of course, today at lunch he started to make a crack about my driving, and I chose that moment to remind him that I am much more adept at city driving than he is. The conversation ended there.
Okay, so once again, I’m totally off the subject. After lunch, I learned that my dad doesn’t drive after noon. Apparently he gets tired after eating a boatload of fried food. Guess who got to continue? That’s right, birthday girl. Unfortunately, birthday girl was sleepy too because she only got 4 hours of sleep, and she ate her weight in fish and chips. I suffered through it.
Then we got to Santa Cruz, and that’s when the moratorium on backseat driving was lifted. Within minutes, cracks were being made about me being lost (in a town I’ve only been to one time before...and I wasn’t the one driving). In true form, I couldn’t do anything right. And then, just as I turned onto the street to park at the boardwalk, but got a little flustered as a group of kids ran into the crosswalk and another car blocked me in the intersection, my dad started complaining about my driving. I wasn’t having it, so I yelled back...and the games began.
It became clear that we needed some alone time, so I was allowed to walk 10 feet ahead on the boardwalk, the whole while mumbling about my birthday, and not liking to drive, and never getting to do what I want. You know, mostly the same kind of thing I would silently complain about when I was 12 (though the driving part wasn’t there at the time). We made up on the boardwalk by never mentioning the incident again and sharing a Dr. Pepper. Then, my brother called at just the right time, so I could vent my frustration to him.
With that little field trip done, we headed to the hotel (with the help of a GPS since I don’t have any maps of the area and have never been to this part of the world before). All was right with the world, until it was time to eat. Since we didn’t have any books or maps, we needed to buy some. It was the only way to get my dad to stop complaining about how I don’t know my way around cities I’ve never visited. After using my blackberry to locate a bookstore, I decided to hunt down some food choices too. Dad said Chili’s. I looked it up, knowing that it was a definite possibility, birthday or not. When I questioned him on his actual desire to go to Chili’s, he said he was kidding and didn’t care. You might think this was a good sign. Hell, I thought it was a good sign, but the events that unfolded once we got to the main shopping/dining area proved otherwise.
We bought our books and then took a stroll down the street to select a restaurant. We had plenty of options: Italian, Pizza, Mexican (sit-down or taqueria), Irish Pub, Indian, California, Asian. Knowing my dad, the only real options were Italian, Pizza, Mexican, or American--and really, American is the only option. He wanted none of it. I kept trying to come up with anything, and he was getting crankier and crankier because he didn’t want to eat at some California restaurant where they serve sprouts (since that’s what I’m always ordering when I go out). And I was getting irritated. It was my birthday, and I had to drive the whole way down there, and I had to spend all of my non-driving time trying to come up with a restaurant option that would satisfy my father despite the fact that *I* should be the one to choose the restaurant. However, choosing a restaurant that he dislikes makes the whole experience far too frustrating to enjoy, so...
We went to Chili’s. I have to admit that I was a little upset. Tears may have been choked back. Seriously? Chili’s? We all know that I frequent chain restaurants more than I’d like to admit, but we also know that I frequent them alone. It’s a weird not-so-secret secret hobby. But I really didn’t want to go to Chili’s on my birthday. Unfortunately, I didn’t really have a choice. Regardless of the fact that I’ve walked this earth for over 30 years, my dad still rules the roost.
Off we went to Capitola, to eat at Chili’s in the mall. Once we walked in, I decided to just let it go. My dad actually seemed happy, and a happy dad is much less stressful for me. As we waited for a table, I came to the most delightful realization. It was my birthday, AND I was at a chain restaurant. Anybody else know where I’m going here? That’s right, free dessert! I announced my plan to my parents. They laughed, though I could see my dad realize what his picky eating habits had done to my birthday dinner. Once we were seated, the server came by and asked, "Hi, how are all doing tonight?"
"Great," I said. "Today’s my birthday."
"Oh! Happy birthday!" He replied, "We’ll take care of you."
Sweet! I was so totally in. What would I get? I hoped for the molten chocolate cake. Surely they’d give me that! We ordered our food, and I chose a salad (which, to be completely honest was just what the doctor ordered. My diet has gone to s***). Our food came. I enjoyed mine with the minor exception of the mountain of seasoned salt they poured on top of my salad (Why?!). My only other complaint was the lack of refills on my iced tea. If I only had one reason to go to a chain restaurant (especially a Texas-based chain), it’s for the fast and furious refills. I like to get my money’s worth out of the deal, ya know?
Just as I finished up my salad, the cheers of the waitstaff came rumbling down the aisle. It was birthday time! They sang me a song. I was a little embarrassed, especially knowing that I intentionally brought this upon myself, and then, they presented me with my free dessert...
A chocolate milkshake.
My mom and I laughed.
I can’t drink milk.
Chili’s won.
I still had some of it. So far, I think my body is giving me a pass today.
Nicely played, chain restaurant. Bravo!
As we walked to the car, my dad apologized for making me go to Chili’s on my birthday. I felt bad. It was actually pretty fun...and funny, not to mention memorable.
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