A little moody today

Geez. Sometimes my mother can drive me crazy.

I made the mistake of agreeing to another IHOP meal and a movie with her today. Shoulda been my first red flag. I ignored it. Mom and I arrived at the restaurant at the same time. When we walked in, there had to be over twenty people waiting for a table. Red flag number 2? Ignored. We put our name on the list and waited. And waited. And waited. The thing is, Mom is in a scooter. So we can't just sit at any table. It has to be only half a booth or a free standing table. That way Mom can sit on one side in her scooter. So we had to wait until one freed up. I understand, I can't blame the host. There aren't many options. So we got a table.

Let me warn you, my mother is a creature of habit. She does EVERYTHING by routine. Now, at IHOP, there are only two aisles you can go down to get to the table we needed. It was so crowded that some people were sitting at the ends of their booths which blocked the USUAL aisle my mother uses. That threw her off. Picture it: I'm following the host down the second aisle, and he is warning people that a wheelchair is coming through. I look back quickly to make sure my mom can get through, but she is sitting at the opening to aisle number one- her usual aisle. I nod my head in the hosts direction, sort of nonchalantly, to get her to follow. She starts mouthing that she wants to go down HER aisle. I thought I was going to kill her. Couldn't she see just as plainly as me that aisle number one was blocked with people? She finally follows but not without a big production and rudely passing seated customers- who by the way are scared of her at this point.

We make it to the table. We had to pull three chairs away to make room for her scooter. They end up in the middle of the space between us and the table behind us. The poor host. All he wants is to drop off our menus and hightail it outta there. But mom is already bitching to me about how she needs to turn around. Good God. Turning around could create quite a spectacle. My mother's driving is lacking in rudimentary skills. Her scooter resembles a beat up pinto. Paint's chipped off, there are dents in it, parts are missing. You understand. There is only one way her scooter came to be in this condition. Her driving. So when she starts in on how she wants to turn around, the poor host looks at me and shyly asks if this table is okay. I assure him that it is and thank him. But mom is trying to tell him how we usually sit at THAT table over there (never mind that it was covered with dirty dishes). Either he was smart enough to ignore her, or he was lucky enough to have some sort of hearing disorder. At times I wish I did. Now would be one of them.

So we are surrounded by full tables. People are crowded. Omelettes are everywhere. And all she wants is to turn her scooter around because she just has to sit with her right side toward the table.

I start threatening. If she starts turning around then I'm leaving. Sure. You may think I'm being harsh. Turning a scooter around is no big deal, right? Folks- you don't understand. If my mother could stand she would be a half inch under six feet. Her scooter is large enough to accommodate her tall frame. It's huge. Those legs can't just hang off as they would with a regular sized scooter. Hers is a behemoth. She musta thought I was kidding about leaving. She starts her Austin-Powers-like maneuvering to get that thing turned around. Space was tight. Of course she didn't think of turning her speed down from rabbit to turtle. So before I can blink she takes off toward the table next to us. Of course she hits a chair. Thank god it was empty. The old people there were sort of flustered. The poor old man is trying to move the chair out of the way, but what he doesn't understand is that she isn't finished yet. And she has plans to occupy the space that he just moved the chair into. She just starts backing up, pulling forward, backing up again, forward, back, forward. Each time she gets about 2 inches turned. And did I mention that when she is in reverse the thing beeps? Loudly! Think of one of those huge delivery trucks. Only indoors.

It gets worse.

The host, by now, is trying to seat more people, and she is blocking them. I am gritting my teeth, sort of whisper-yelling at her to stop. NOW. But she thinks she knows what she is doing. Backward, forward. Then with great gusto she manages to catch a hold of that chair and drag it with her a full foot. Everyone stops breathing. I turn a color similar to that of a ripe tomato. Backward, forward, and boom! She has now hit a chair with someone in it. The poor guy is pushed so close into his table, and stuck, that he can't even get out of it. He manages to sort of slide the chair to the left a little because in my mothers haste to move, the shock of actually hitting someone has frozen her. It was a few beats before she pulled away from the guy. I have now gone from tomato to a red delicious apple hue. When she finally does get herself back into motion she pulls away so fast that she rams back into the chair she dragged a foot just thirty seconds earlier. Oh god.

Everyone is staring. Everyone. I think I mentioned my stage fright in a previous story. This would be a stage nightmare.

I must have blacked out. Or pulled off one of those miraculous "dissociative" states I've heard about in trauma cases because somehow she is now sitting in front of me perched happily in her seat. Her hand towel is tucked neatly into the neck of her shirt, ready for any food that would otherwise threaten the cleanliness of her shirt.

At least I can now focus on getting her to take the ridiculous towel out of her shirt.