Got Crabs?

My father-in-law Dave is almost as crotchety as I am. But he's got thirty years on me, so he's sort of perfected it. He came to visit us on Friday night, and after settling on seafood for dinner, my wife and I gave him the only option we knew of which was Joe's Crab Shack. We had never been, and I specifically asked Dave, "What if it's awful?" He responded by saying he was hungry enough to eat anything. So we went.

To eat at Joe's you have to be of a certain character. One who loves a good time, and the Bee Gees. Upon walking in "Staying Alive" was being blasted and we were greeted with, WELCOME TO JOE'S! from the hostess. I asked for a booth, hoping it would be quieter, and after she brought us to a seat way in the back, Dave sat down and yelled across our table, "I HATE THIS PLACE ALREADY."

"DO YOU WANT TO LEAVE", we screamed back at him.

"NO. LET'S JUST EAT".

At this point I knew it was going to be a very difficult dinner. The waitress greeted us with "ARE YOU GUYS READY TO PARTY?"

Dave was not. I immediately felt bad for the poor woman, especially when she started telling us a little bit about the place. "WELL, AS YOU CAN TELL, WE LIKE TO HAVE A GOOD TIME HERE AT JOE'S, AND WHEN YOU SEE THE STAFF GET ON THE FLOOR TO DANCE, FEEL FREE TO JOIN IN."

For some reason she kept talking to Dave, as if she misread his obvious frown and pissy attitude as someone that liked to dance in public. She asked us what we wanted to drink, and when Dave asked for a Seven-Up, she did what every waitress does, seeing as though no one drinks Seven-Up anymore, and asked "IS SPRITE OK?" Dave answered with a definitive "No." I cringed as I could see the confidence drain from her face. From that point on, it got a little awkward. I tried my damnedest to make up for Dave, by being as sweet as I possibly could to the waitress, and vowing to leave a large tip for forgiveness.

It got a little worse as we waited for our food. Every fifteen minutes the place would erupt with hoots and hollers as the wait staff marched out to the dance floor to do their routine. It was quite a sight. I get what they were doing. It was a "fun" place. I think a lot of people dig it, but it was the worst possible place for us. I remember thinking. How in the world are these people able to do this every night and keep a smile on their face? Don't get me wrong, I always very sincerely admire someone working hard at an embarrassing job, I just knew there was no way I could do it. After eating as quickly as I could, and desperately trying to will the wait staff to stop yelling things like "HOT CRAB COMING UP" as they left the kitchen, I couldn't help but wonder how we could have made such a terrible mistake in choosing a restaurant to bring my wife's dad to. The place even had staff selling T-shirts like vendors at baseball games. Weaving around the restaurant yelling out prices and tag lines from the "Joe's" clothing line.

It wasn't until we left the restaurant that I finally figured out how these confident bastards were able to perform such ridiculous tasks on behalf of their employer. I was surprised that I didn't figure it out sooner. After getting to our car, Dave realized he forgot his jacket. Not wanting to make the man go back in there, I offered to run in. As I was waiting for the hostess to bring out the jacket, one of the employees came up to me and in a pretty friendly way, asked if I had eaten. I said, "Yes, I just forgot my jacket." He turned around to straighten a rack of T-shirts they had for sale, and one minute later he turned back and asked, "Hey man, have you eaten?" Confused, I was about to answer when the hostess came back to tell me the jacket would be right up. But as she was telling me this, she was awfully close and intense, as if she wasn't sure how far away I was. And that's when it hit me. Everyone working there was completely drunk. It made perfect sense to me then. The yelling, the dancing, many of the staff wearing sunglasses indoors. It's the only way a person can do that extremely difficult job, and do it well. I wonder if that's what it would take for us to enjoy our meal. A couple of stiff drinks, and some dancing shoes.