Your Most Embarrassing Restaurant Moment(s)

[Brain]

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http://home.kc.rr.com/emison/ryans.html

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Thanks, I'm one of those three people.

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Okay, there's only one left now.

[BWebb]

This didn't happen to me, but it happened in a restaurant where I worked. A kid, I'd guess he was from 9-12 years old, threw up all over his table and himself. Not sure what caused it, but he got sick everywhere. Normally, I would think this was embarrasing enough, but it was just the beginning. His mother had him strip down to his tiddy whities right there at the table and walk to the bathroom so he wouldn't get the vommit all over the place. The restaurant wasn't very busy at the time, but I still felt very bad for the kid. I'm sure this had to scare him for life.

[David H]

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this cant be true, no one wears sweatpans on a date.

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I'd have to imagine if there is a type of person who wears sweatpants on a date, it's the same kind of person who takes a date to an all-you-can-eat buffet.

[aragorn_i]

I am maybe 5 or 6 and am going to a nice restaurant for the first time.As the waiter is taking us to our table I notice the nicely folded napkins sitting at the kind of triangle on the table.Seeing these kicks in some kind of saturday morning cartoon reaction.I grap one,put it on my head and begin to sing at the top of my voice "I'M POPEYE THE SAILOR MAN! It would be a few years before we went to a nice restaurant again.

[lmatth]

While waiting tables at one of the nicer restaurants in our town I had this group of 8 who were pretty well off and hammered. They gave me some grief but were overall nice people. We just got a new dessert and I convinced the birthday girl (totally hammered) to try it and she did... I'm carrying some plates by the table and this woman is just moaning over the dessert. I walk past the table then back tracked to where I was standing directly in front of her. "You really enjoy that dessert don't you?" her response was loud and pretty straight forward... "This is better than sex!" ... At which point I couldn't help myself and looked at her husband and said "Sucks to be you".

The woman almost spit out the dessert and the entire table erupted in laughter. I walked off and before they left I saw the guy and apologized and said I was just trying to have some fun... he shook my hand and said that it took a major pair to say what I did and that it was probably one of the funniest things that has ever happened to him in a restaurant.

[___SK___]

The Ryans story reminds me of the time i was doing "the move" and didnt make it.

[inishowen]

I used to hang out with twins, not the kind that look identical, the other kind. One was huge, the other slight, with a sibling rivalry to the point of being cruel to one another. We used to go to this ice cream place that offered a huge sundae in a mixing bowl called the "belly
buster" with the promotion being anybody that can eat it alone gets it free. The big one orders it, 5 minutes later, to bells and whistles and drum beats, 4 staff bring it to the table on a stretcher which evidently was part of the charm but also served to get everybody in the place looking at our table. To add to the attraction they placed a mini stobe light on the table lest any one in the place forget that a "belly buster" challenge was underway. They place the bowl in front of the big guy, he grabs his over-sized spoon with one hand and wraps his other arm around the bowl as an animal does to protect a kill. Immediately the brother tries to infiltrate the bowl's defense with a spoon over the arm, only to be skunked by a move similar to a boxer defending against a jab. This goes back and forth several times, voices begin rising, attention from the other patrons is maintained. After several moments of arguing and shadow boxing with spoons the angry big twin reaches down deep and with a long a very vocal effort brings up what has to be an oyster sized loogee(sp)and while holding off his brother with one arm, directs his face back toward the bowl with the apparent thought being that by claiming his catch this way, there'd be no way his brother would attempt further encroachment. A muffled yech is heard throughout the restaurant as what is about to happen becomes apparent. Thinking quickly, and at the precise moment before the oyster sized loogee was sent into the bowl, the skinny twin rose from his seat, leaned over the shoulder of his brother, and with expert aim and one nostril covered, sent a full nostril full of boogers directly into the bowl thus leaving the treat unappetizing to both brothers.

[SkandarAkbar]

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A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards.
It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.

We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however.

I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without to much concern. Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress...

I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom.

Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good [censored], but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagional wirecutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a [censored].

I went to the normal stall.

In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions.

I began "The Move."

For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain. Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances.

There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of [censored] at the exact same second that ones ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.

I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall.

Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch. What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can.

In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crotched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precidence over [censored] no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since [censored] will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted.

At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of [censored] the consistancy of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The [censored] wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initally hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down.

Recall that when that event occured, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the [censored] wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of [censored] remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.

Now, back to the vomit...

While all the [censored] was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed.

OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles.

In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet.

In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in [censored] that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid [censored]. All while thick [censored] was spread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.

And there was no ****ing toilet paper.

What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.
About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to being the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explination as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. She left.

The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage of just slightly above. At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose.

Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.

When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.

The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.

-DG

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So is the embarassing part eating at Ryan's or eating 5 bowls of Ryan's slop?

[T_Mac]

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obviously, this wasn't me, but for the 3 people on the internet who haven't read this, it's pretty awesome.

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thank you kind sir

[entertainme]

In my younger years, I was a supervisor on a production line. I must have been working the night shift at the time, because I was at work in the morning and looking for someone to go out to breakfast with me. Another supervisor was able to get away so we went to Country Kitchen to grab some breakfast.

I had been sitting with one leg up under me and didn't realize when we got up to leave that my leg had fallen asleep. We stand up, take two steps, and I'm down for the count right in the middle of the aisle.

Lucky for me that whole "damsel in distress" thing works. I married the other supervisor within a couple years. [img]/images/graemlins/grin.gif[/img]

The Poker Mom