the most embarrassing seats in the house

What does it mean when you're placed in the most embarrassing seats in the house?

Last night when I was having dinner with my lola, the restaurant we went into was so packed that the receptionist said only those with reservations could sit on the lower floor. Walk-ins had to go to the second floor, which of course was not possible in our case considering my lola's back problem.

Long story short, we had to sit somewhere near the entrance where people usually sat and waited for their seats to be ready. No one actually EATS in those seats right? Whereas Mommy and I were having our entrees in that blasted sofa.

In all fairness, there was a table in front of us, only that it was a tad bit too short to be eating something on top of it. Whatever. Mommy wasn't complaining and she was the one in all these pearls and stuff so I just felt I didn't have the right to.

But of course I did... just a little... to see how the waiters could probably help get us out of a somewhat sticky situation. To no avail. There's no messing with Friday night dinners in that place.

By some stroke of divine intervention (and some winking at the waiters on my part), the table adjacent to our semi-table stood up and left, and without any more of my motions for the waiter to remedy what could have been a gastronomically delightful but ego-crushing dinner, a squeakingly clean table was set up in what I had noticed was the best spot in the house.

Before our main course was served, Mommy and I were relocated to the center area of the lower floor. Right beside beige tweed drapes that gave a sense of privacy but at the same time some warmth. Some, mind you, because the initial hostility I felt had not yet totally been exterminated.

I scanned the room. From where we were seated, you could see the whole restaurant. The whole lower floor I mean. Not bad, I thought to myself. From loser seats to prime seats. Not bad at all.

Shortly after the seat switcharoo, our main course was served. It was alright. Mom had fillet of apahap in a bed of pasta and vegetables while I had angel hair pasta with anchovies and sun-dried tomatoes. My pasta dish was a little saltier than I would have normally liked it. But it's no matter.

I forgot to mention that the owner of the restaurant personally came over to our table to give her apologies for the mis-seating, as I would like to call it. That was a nice gesture. Threw all the logic of my the initial forehead-wrinkling in the trash. AT LEAST, some form of consuelo de bobo.

This got me to thinking, how do people really view others who are placed in perhaps, compromising situations out of their own will and control? And how come when those people are no longer in that situation, then they just seem like the rest of us and no one bothers to give a second look?

Maybe being in those situations does somehow give those people a little edge over all the others. Because then you have the privilege of WAITING in suspense for what is in store for you. Gives you a little taste of what will come your way without your doing anything. Kind of exciting, isn't it? A refreshing change from being IN CONTROL 24/7.

And everyone knows it's boring being a conformist. That's why no one bothers to look anymore. There's nothing exciting to see.

I wrote this article in contemplating why people always demand for what they feel is rightfully theirs. Just like my futile attempts to make the waiters arrange a more decent eating set-up for Mom and I. It's just that it wasn't our time yet.

I realized, as long as you're there for all the right reasons, then, you eventually get what's due you. Which in this case are the prime seats.

Perhaps the restaurant scene is a metaphor for our lives. Sometimes you sit by the window, sometimes they seat you in the dark, hell, sometimes you even have to sit beside the kitchen or the bathroom doors.

But sometimes, SOMETIMES, you get the prime seats, which actually, everyone really deserves.

It's just a matter of waiting for your turn.