On Saturday night, Tirithien and I went to the movies. We saw a vampire movie called Night Watch (which, in spite of the review on the IMDB page, we both thought was actually quite good-- and we are VERY picky about our vampire movies. It's in Russian, with subtitles, and is the first of a trilogy. Now, Russian movies with subtitles aren't exactly standard fare for the Metro Detroit area, and the only theatre showing it was about 30 miles to the northwest of my home, in one of the more affluent suburbs. But then, on the other hand, I had a gift card to that theatre chain, since a couple of years ago my cousin gave me one as a gift thinking there was one more local. Oops! So now I finally had an excuse to use the gift card, and all was well.
After the movie, we wanted to get some dinner. We were far from home, in unfamiliar territory, with plenty of restaurants we'd never tried, so after a bit of dithering, we picked one called Champps Americana. Essentially, a very fancy sports bar. Well, the place was fairly crowded, but we were seated quickly at a most horrible table.
The layout of the restaurant is such that the tables are on different tiered levels, and the tiers are separated by railings. However, the tables are REALLY squeezed in tight and pushed right up against the rails, which meant that our table was essentially right next to a table shared by three middle-aged men who had clearly been drinking for awhile. I mean, we may as well have been at the same table, for all the "separation" the railing provided.
They were obnoxiously perfect examples of the middle-aged, upper-middle-class white male stereotypes. When we sat down, they were boasting about the sizes of their houses and the contents of their wallets. The conversation moved then to hockey and how "back in their day" they could do better than the players on the ice, how it was a conspiracy that the US didn't win a medal in Olympic hockey, what a shame it was that the recent lottery jackpot was won by a family of "damn immigrants," and how the government killed President Kennedy.
Admittedly, that last one threw me for a loop. Tirithien and I tried to increase their dis-knowledge base by loudly talking about how we'd seen a story in the news about a guy who'd been found in a bathtub full of ice with his kidneys missing, and what a shame it was that people couldn't even keep their organs in their bodies anymore, but I think the Obnoxious Middle-Aged Trio was being too loud to hear us.
Finally, thankfully, they left, probably to drive home in their oversized penis replacements-- I mean, SUVs-- and no one else was seated at that table. Of course, then the table right behind me was filled with a group of young girls dressed for a night out, who seemed to keep expanding, expanding, and expanding so that eventually my chair was pushed as far up to the table as it could be without the table slicing through my torso.
In my best passive-aggressive way, when it was time to go, I pushed back my chair with all my strength and a great flourish, knocking, of course, into the chair of the over-perfumed tart behind me. She glared at me, but didn't say a word. How could she, when her chair had been so clearly in my space?
So, this is definitely not a restaurant we will be visiting again. The food was good, but the layout of the restaurant made it a most unpleasant experience! If the sequels to Night Watch have such limited release as to necessitate going so far from home again, I think we are going to have to arrange to have dinner closer to home!