Last week my friends and I had a movie night. The plan was for us to go get some food and then rent a movie, but none of us could decide on where we wanted to eat. We had picky eaters and people who had just eaten at that one place the night before and people who didn’t have a lot of money, so the pickings were slim. Eventually, however, we were too hungry to make rational decisions, so we wound up going to this restaurant way across town. Nobody could remember who had suggested it, but it was mentioned in passing and we all slowly looked up as if heavenly beams of light were shining down on us from above.
“This must be what it feels like to make a decision,” I had said.
But the drive across town proved almost too much for us. We were all hungry, and traffic was bad, and Holly, who was driving, said, “Who the hell picked this place anyway?”
Nobody could remember. We weren’t even sure anyone had picked it; it seemed just as likely that we had all just piled into the car and started meandering over that way. We were all hungry and unhappy as we waited for the waiter, Dave, to come take our orders, and he was taking an almost absurdly long time for five people who were about ten minutes away from eating each other.
“There he is, there he is!” I whispered excitedly. “He’s right there, he’s—no, no, no, he’s turning around—no—DAVE, COME BACK!”
This last part I belted out so that everyone and his mother looked my way, Dave included. This finally brought a wave of merriment to the group as my friends all burst out laughing. It was at my expense, but still. It was the least I could do. (I’m like 40% sure I was the one who inadvertently selected the restaurant.)