I've had a great time in DC with my mom. However, some of her antics can be exhausting. I think they exhaust her too, which explains how she manages to sleep 12-14 hours a day. It's astounding. We are heading home this afternoon, so it seems like a good time to reflect on our time here.
Karen has a very specific protocol for dealing with the wait staff at restaurants. I've pretty much got it figured out now. First, she introduces herself (and me), and tells them that they look like some celebrity (sometimes they do, usually they don't). Then she has to tell them three stories about her childhood that have no relevance to anything. The stories are incredibly hard to follow. She references people without explaining who they are. "One time he went to that store..." -- only she hasn't said who HE is or mentioned a STORE at all previously. The restaurant is usually very busy, and the person tries to get away multiple times, but she keeps interrupting.
When they finally do get away and eventually come back with our drinks, she goes through this weird shift from acting like everyone has all the time in the world to acting like the world is going to end in 10 minutes. They say something like, "Can I get you ladies an appetizer or answer any questions about the menu?" At this point, Karen will immediately launch into her food order at hyper speed, "I'll have the creamy chicken soup. That doesn't have cream or chicken in it, does it? If it does, I'll have the gluten surprise. That doesn't have gluten or a surprise in it, does it? If it does, I'll have some hot water with lemon. Is that dairy free?" It's hilarious. What kills me is she makes it a point to tell every server that she's lactose intolerant, when I've been watching her throw back 20 ounce glasses of milk for the past 30 years with no ill effects.
If we're in a Mexican restaurant, it's even more of a circus because she will speak broken Spanish to everyone in sight. She doesn't understand that some people of hispanic descent who aren't first or second generation don't necessarily speak Spanish (and they certainly don't speak her version of Spanish). My favorite example of this was a time she kept asking for the check (in Spanish) and the waitress kept bringing her beers. Karen finally used her English words to ask for the check, and the girl felt horrible and had to explain to my mom that her mom was Mexican, but she had grown up in Michigan and didn't speak a word of Spanish. By then, Karen was quite drunk from all those beers.
She has weird words for some things, which I'm sure is a generational thing. Does anyone else have parents who call flip-flops "thongs"? It was incredibly awkward when Karen yelled out, "Oh man, it's raining and we're both wearing thongs!" in front of the National Gallery of Art.
When we went to Colonial Williamsburg, she made me buy tickets for this ghost tour. The tour ended up being this cute series of stories told by actors who were pretending to be some historical resident of the town. I liked it. She didn't like it because there weren't any real ghosts. I don't know exactly what she was expecting, and I'm afraid to ask. I have to admit, it was pretty entertaining that she kept calling the people in colonial costumes "dude."
She went over to Virginia to go to Arlington Cemetery while I was doing research yesterday. I don't know how, but she spent $40 in the gift shop over there. What the hell do you buy in a cemetery gift shop? Again, not going to ask. I wrote out detailed instructions for how to get there on the metro. When we met back up later in the day, she got mad at me because I told her the cemetery was on the blue metro line (it is). She insists that she was on the blue line and it kept going west into Virginia. I told her that she must have been on the orange line, and showed her a metro map that clearly showed Arlington National Cemetery on the blue line. She continued to argue with me. Maybe she thought I spent my day making a fake metro map.
I'm looking forward to getting back to Portland. It's been a fun trip, but all good things must come to an end. I think my brother should take my mom on a trip next summer.
Karen has a very specific protocol for dealing with the wait staff at restaurants. I've pretty much got it figured out now. First, she introduces herself (and me), and tells them that they look like some celebrity (sometimes they do, usually they don't). Then she has to tell them three stories about her childhood that have no relevance to anything. The stories are incredibly hard to follow. She references people without explaining who they are. "One time he went to that store..." -- only she hasn't said who HE is or mentioned a STORE at all previously. The restaurant is usually very busy, and the person tries to get away multiple times, but she keeps interrupting.
When they finally do get away and eventually come back with our drinks, she goes through this weird shift from acting like everyone has all the time in the world to acting like the world is going to end in 10 minutes. They say something like, "Can I get you ladies an appetizer or answer any questions about the menu?" At this point, Karen will immediately launch into her food order at hyper speed, "I'll have the creamy chicken soup. That doesn't have cream or chicken in it, does it? If it does, I'll have the gluten surprise. That doesn't have gluten or a surprise in it, does it? If it does, I'll have some hot water with lemon. Is that dairy free?" It's hilarious. What kills me is she makes it a point to tell every server that she's lactose intolerant, when I've been watching her throw back 20 ounce glasses of milk for the past 30 years with no ill effects.
If we're in a Mexican restaurant, it's even more of a circus because she will speak broken Spanish to everyone in sight. She doesn't understand that some people of hispanic descent who aren't first or second generation don't necessarily speak Spanish (and they certainly don't speak her version of Spanish). My favorite example of this was a time she kept asking for the check (in Spanish) and the waitress kept bringing her beers. Karen finally used her English words to ask for the check, and the girl felt horrible and had to explain to my mom that her mom was Mexican, but she had grown up in Michigan and didn't speak a word of Spanish. By then, Karen was quite drunk from all those beers.
She has weird words for some things, which I'm sure is a generational thing. Does anyone else have parents who call flip-flops "thongs"? It was incredibly awkward when Karen yelled out, "Oh man, it's raining and we're both wearing thongs!" in front of the National Gallery of Art.
When we went to Colonial Williamsburg, she made me buy tickets for this ghost tour. The tour ended up being this cute series of stories told by actors who were pretending to be some historical resident of the town. I liked it. She didn't like it because there weren't any real ghosts. I don't know exactly what she was expecting, and I'm afraid to ask. I have to admit, it was pretty entertaining that she kept calling the people in colonial costumes "dude."
She went over to Virginia to go to Arlington Cemetery while I was doing research yesterday. I don't know how, but she spent $40 in the gift shop over there. What the hell do you buy in a cemetery gift shop? Again, not going to ask. I wrote out detailed instructions for how to get there on the metro. When we met back up later in the day, she got mad at me because I told her the cemetery was on the blue metro line (it is). She insists that she was on the blue line and it kept going west into Virginia. I told her that she must have been on the orange line, and showed her a metro map that clearly showed Arlington National Cemetery on the blue line. She continued to argue with me. Maybe she thought I spent my day making a fake metro map.
I'm looking forward to getting back to Portland. It's been a fun trip, but all good things must come to an end. I think my brother should take my mom on a trip next summer.
