In My Time of Dining

When celebrating my victories on the field of business, I do like so many other super-premium executives that have come before me: I lay claim to a table at the O’Hare Chili’s and avail myself of their many delicacies.

Ironically, I never eat chili at Chili’s for the simple reason that chili is terrible. The only reason that anyone eats chili is because it has a cool name (for a hot dish!) If I said “hey, want some bean stew?” you would probably punch me in the face and I would painfully concede that you were right to do so. I do like their beer, unless I am still coming down from watching Rock Candy play Lady Gaga covers at the Cubby Bear following the previous night’s Cubs game. Now, no offense to Rock Candy who ably played Born This Way, but I am highly disappointed in the people of Chicago for enjoying it so thoroughly. I was under the impression that Chicago was a city that treasured good music and tried to keep the old traditions alive, but apparently they like the same crap that everyone else does.

Passing on the beer I helped myself to Chili’s fine selection of soft drinks and naturally chose Coke Zero, which is apparently the boy version of Diet Coke. Why boys get to drink delicious sucralose while girls are stuck with stinky old aspartame is beyond me, but it is obviously some kind of corporate sexism/mind control experiment.

The only bad thing about eating at the O’Hare Chili’s is that the tiny tables are so close together that you feel like you’re dining family-style, except that every third relative has been replaced by a black wheely bag.  I was immediately apprehensive about my seat because I was next to a lady that had a baby. Obviously babies are too stupid to enjoy the many fine foods at Chili’s and they shouldn’t even be sitting there because they don’t have any business successes to celebrate. But imagine my surprise when the baby turned out to be a perfectly lovely lunch mate and the real trouble was on my left, in the form of a horrible business couple.

There’s nothing worse than a horrible business couple because all they talk about is their stupid jobs and complain about co-workers who aren’t lucky enough to be at Chili’s. The only time business couples are good company is if they’re: 1) having an affair with each other; or 2) running a drug cartel, because then I can pretend that I’m watching an uglified version of Mad Men or Breaking Bad.

Over the years I have noticed that horrible business couples at Chili’s will always do the following things, and Tammy and the silver-haired guy with the unironic moustache hit all of the marks:

1) Someone will take a phone call at the table, which is rude because now I have to listen to half of a boring business conversation. (Tammy)

2) Someone will choke on their Chili’s food and try to act cool about it by saying “I wasn’t choking, it was just my gag reflex”, which, by the way, is way more disgusting than just choking. (Tammy)

3) Someone will reveal themselves to be a stupid Republican* by yammering on about Obammer and extolling the virtues of Ron Paul and Donald Trump while trying to pass themselves off as being reasonable by saying that they wouldn’t vote for Sarah Palin. (Tammy)

(*Please note that I’m not saying that all Republicans are stupid. Obviously rich people need a political party to help them hoard their money. I’m just saying that non-wealthy Republicans are stupid.)

4) Someone will explain the Iowa caucus system in such explicit detail that I’d desperately wish that they started trashing Pam in HR again. (silver-haired guy with the unironic moustache, damn you, I had such hope for you, too.)

5) Someone will throw a pack of saltines at another table, miss the table and not think twice about it landing on the floor while the waiter and I exchange “did that just really happen?” looks with each other. (Tammy, obviously.)

6) Someone will start bragging about going to the fancy schmancy Admiral’s Club (which, incidentally password protects their wifi so I can’t steal their bandwidth, thanks for nothing) after paying the check at Chili’s. (fuck you Tammy, you elitist scum.)

Needless to say, none of this should dissuade you from enjoying a delicious celebratory meal at the O’Hare Chili’s, but if given the choice opt for the seat near the baby instead of one next to Tammy and the silver-haired guy with the unironic moustache.


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