It happens without fail: We end up seated by "the one in every restaurant." Sometimes, we are with "the one", but more often we end up at a table near "the one". What is "the one in every restaurant?" you ask. It is the person who knows everything about every subject and informs the people at their table (loudly) of their opinion on everything from aardvarks to Zzyzx Road (it's a road near the NV/CA border).
Case in point: about 10 years ago we were dining at a restaurant near the St. Louis airport which is now closed (the restaurant, not the airport; but the way airlines are going these days, it may be the airport soon--that's another story) and were seated near "the one." There were only a few tables in the restaurant which were occupied, so we were actually not at the table next to the one. We were a few tables over, but that did not prevent us from hearing the conversation. We were not eavesdropping; we could not help hearing. The woman was going on and on about her whole family and telling her companion who Uncle Al was and "you know, his daughter/niece/stepmother was so-and-so" to which the other lady would nod as though she knew what the other was talking about. We felt sorry for the poor girl who sat through the whole conversation because she looked as though she was a foreign exchange student on her way to/from home and was subjected (as we all were) to this unending, one-sided dialogue.
More recently we were enjoying a lovely evening at a restaurant on the Hill, and were seated near a group which I believed was "the one." We still wonder why they were speaking so loudly, unless one member of their group was hard of hearing and didn't wear a hearing aid. Much our our chagrin, they were not "the one," for the real "the one" was seated on the other side of us shortly afterward. This man was informing the three other people all he knew about many subjects. Loudly and assertively. The one couple at his table were just going along with it. At one point, (again, not eavesdropping--he was speaking loudly enough so that we could hear every word) he spoke of how he and his wife stayed up past midnight to watch NBC's rebroadcast (they must not own a VCR) of Tim Russert's memorial service. He was waxing excitedly about how wonderful this service was, how wonderfully his son spoke, etc., and commented about the amphitheater it took place in. I just wanted to interject, "Um, it was in the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, sir."
Someday, in an ideal world, I will go to a restaurant and not be seated next to "the one". Until that day, I hope that I am not "the one!"
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