The Restaurant Story

Boring, but anyone with social anxiety or fear of being around/eating around people can probably relate.

I'm sitting at a restaurant. I'm there with my family, celebrating one of my aunt's birthdays or something. I'm younger, maybe fourteen. I'm wearing long sleeves, and a hoodie on top, even though it's quite warm out. I play with the ends of my sleeves, looking down. Every once and and while though, I'll glance around me, looking at all the people. It's a popular restaurant we're at, and I think it's a Friday, at around dinner time. The place is packed, and its really loud. I don't like it. My family is talking happily amongst themselves, often laughing, and as usual i'm not included. Not that once and a while someone won't try; asking me a question or commenting on my clothes or hair or something in an effort to get me to talk. I usually just nod or shake my head, or mumble something if absolutely necessary. I know that I probably come off as rude, and to be honest I really didn't wanna go that night. But not to be rude, or because I didn't like my aunt or my family or because I didn't care. It was... a bit more complicated than that, to say the least. The waiter comes over to our table after a while; after all it's a busy night for him. When the people i'm with see him walk over, they murmur to each other about how it took him long enough, although in all honesty I would've preferred if he took much longer. And of course it had to be a waiter, not a waitress. Not to be sexist, I just find female servers to be less... scary... to talk to. I'm sitting at the corner of the table, where I usually end up, for some reason. Luckily enough for me, though, he starts at the other side. Everyone in my party eventually orders what they want, and it seemed effortless enough. I of course knew what I wanted; I had more than enough time to choose and the kids menu only had so many options. (I always chose off that, and pretty much still always do. It's cheaper and more appropriately portioned for my body size and appetite.) But for some reason when he looked me right in the eye, and asked what I wanted, I literally just froze. Happens every time. And so of course the person who happened to be beside me that night, my Nanna, I believe, swooped in, saw what item on the menu I was still pointing at, and told him that's what I'd have. So he walked away, and of course I was thinking a million things. That he must think me so stupid, that my family is probably ashamed of me, or at least tired of ordering my food for me every time we go out. I pull harder on my hoodie sleeves, wishing I could pull my hood up and just disappear. I feel like every person in the place is looking at me, staring at me, talking about me. Which even then I knew was ridiculous; no one there cared about who I was or what I was doing. But it didn't stop me from thinking every laugh I heard was at my expense. Finally, after sitting there awkwardly for what felt like for much too long, but was only probably about twenty to thirty minutes, our food came. It was the same waiter but he didn't look at me once, which both made me feel better and worse at the same time. It seemed to confirm that he thought I was a freak, when in all actuality he was probably just tired and wanted the night to be over so he could go home. We had that in common. And when my stupid kids meal was placed in front of me, of course I couldn't eat it, so I just pushed the bug-shaped noodles around in the bowl and waited until everyone else was finally done eating and ran out of things to talk about, so that someone could ask me for a take-out box. And then, finally, everybody starts getting their things together and getting ready to go; hugs are given, handshakes between the men, various bills are paid, and then I'm walking out the door into the night air and I can finally breathe as we walk to our car and I get in.