Tales From a Table For One

WARNING: The following post is totally random and makes no sense. Hopefully I'll have better stuff when I get to Melbourne.

Yesterday I walked about ¾ of a mile to get to Norton Street, the closest strip of activities to my new place in Lilyfield. Technically, Norton Street is in Leichhardt, a neighboring suburb known for its Italian restaurants and dubbed “Little Italy” in all my aussie guidebooks. Being a foodie, I am dying to try one of these fine establishments, but also being a solo diner, I prefer to attend eateries with the fewest amount of people.

So there I was, en route to Bombay Grill, the only Indian restaurant in Little Italy.

And it was 4:15pm

Sure enough, there was no one inside. In fact, the only staff member to be seen was mopping the floor, and I wondered if this was one of those quaint places that closed between lunch and dinner hours to “prepare.” Frankly, those types of places annoy me, as I don’t think a restaurant’s responsibilities should involve telling me when I can and cannot be hungry and decide to satiate that hunger. As I hesitantly crossed the threshold, he waved me in, but warned me to be careful of the wet floor.

There was a row of several hot options already prepared, which often turns me off--I mean, how long has that daal been simmering, and is it even fresh? However, in this lonely awkward state, I appreciated having my food immediately ready, avoiding the awkward wait for my entrée that sometimes makes me so nervous that I lose my appetite. I took a seat facing away from the street so that I wouldn't have to endure looks of pity from passersby.

Not content to simply eat my food, I immediately took out my latest book—one of the many I’d brought with me for moments such as this. As I re-read David Sedaris for the umpteenth time (he helps puts my own insecurities in perspective), I start cutting my chicken tikka massala with one hand while holding my paperback with the other. Suddenly, my fork decided I was not going to sit in peace, but rather embarrass myself completely. It was as if it was fighting my direction and said, “you know, you may want to appear nonchalant and comfortable being alone, but I know the truth, and I am going to out you.”

My fork slipped from my hand, fell into my plate, which was piled high with rice and sauce, causing some of my meal to splatter onto my lap, shirt, and even my glasses.As I began to wipe myself up, I thought, Thank god this place is empty and I’m alone. At least I can suffer shame in peace.

I then look up and see that the waiter, who I thought was in the kitchen, was actually staring at me from the back of the restaurant. Apparently, I’d caused quite a commotion, with the clatter of cutlery and all.

Great. Not only did I look like a toddler who’d just thrown a tantrum, but my klutziness was now real, having been seen by another party.

He brought me over new cutlery and napkins, and I thanked him sheepishly. Sometimes, I feel about as awkward as a middle school dance.
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Today, an aussie friend of mine called me and asked if I wanted to see some stand-up comedy at a pub close to where I live. Even though I'd just gotten home, I raced back out the door to try to catch the next bus so that I could make the 7pm start time.

I end up arriving 30 minutes early.

I'm sitting at the bar, enjoying the rare chance to actually chat with the bartender (they don't do barstools in Oz--I think by making it unpleasant and awkward to sit alone, they're doing what they can to curb alcoholism). I'm not too worried about my friend and her BF showing up, and just grab a drink and chill. At 10 minutes to 7pm, I order food, so that it's ready by the time they arrive.

At 7:05, I get my meal and go to the back room where the performance is to take place.
I am still alone.

At 7:10, the show starts, and I'm sitting at my 4-person table, trying to eat my sandwich and provide moral support to the comedians. For some reason, when it comes to watching stand up comedy, I'm a total mom, smiling and nodding intently at each performer as though they're performing in their school's production of A Christmas Carol.

At 7:24, my friend and her bf arrive. I do not hide my annoyance, but I shake it off and proceed to watch the insane shitshow that was the Sunday night open mic at the Roxbury. Her bf takes a seat on the couch behind us, which I think is odd, but try not to overanalyze. My friend sits next to me for a few minutes, and then she gets up and joins her boyfriend on the couch.
I am confused.
I stay at my table for 4, which also happens to be under a glaring light, and finish my tofu burger.
Yes, tofu burger.

During moments of hilarity, I crane my neck in an almost Exorcist-like turn to make faces at the two people who had asked me to attend this event, but at some point on the way over decided that sitting with me wasn't part of the bargain. It seems, even when I am with friends, I am still at a table for one.

At 7:48, I left. The show sucked, and if I wanted to sit alone, I would have stayed in my room in Lilyfield. You that old saying, "I can do bad all by myself"? Well, quite frankly, the blacktress can do awkward all by her lonesome--even in an Indian restaurant while having an early-bird special.