Temptation on the menu, or at least on the table

So my son’s hockey team recently played a game at the rink in Canning where it’s so cold you see your breath before you exhale.

Our game was over the noon hour and afterwards people’s thoughts turned to food.

This being our first official road trip of the season – we’ve been to Barrington but a drive under an hour doesn’t really count as “away” – I didn’t know if people would want to eat as a team in a restaurant where you sit at a table to order your meal, or if they’d opt for a fast food outlet. As team manager I didn’t make a reservation until someone asked if we were going somewhere as a team.

I called a restaurant to make a reservation. You’ve got to feel bad for the person on the receiving end when you say there are about 40 of us coming, which includes an entire hockey team, and we’ll be there in 30 minutes. Fortunately for them I had to call back to adjust our numbers when some of the other families opted for the fast food option instead.

In the end there were nine kids and almost an equal number of parents who descended on the restaurant.

Now seems like a good time to mention the kids were wearing dress shirts and ties, in addition to their team tracksuits.

The kids sat together at one table and the parents sat in booths surrounding them. Since me and another dad were sitting at the end of our booth, we were nominated to keep an eye on the kids to make sure things didn’t get out of hand. They didn’t. But it wasn’t due to lack of temptation.

I figure our waitress must not have children. That can only explain why, after bringing the kids their drinks that each came with a straw, she came back with a handful of straws and put them on the table in front of the kids cheerfully adding, “extra straws.”

I figure these extra straws are going to end up someone’s nose, or the paper wrappers are going to make great ammunition for spitballs. I quickly rounded up the unused straws and grabbed all of the paper wrappers. As I walked away I heard one kid say, ‘Awww…no spit balls.”

The kids ordered their food. Did I mention they were wearing dress shirts and ties? And that a lot of the shirts were white? Because I wish I could mimic the look on the face of the dad sitting next to me when the waitress came out with five bottles of ketchup for the kids’ table.

Now there’s a recipe for disaster. Whatever happened to a placement and crayons?

But to their credit, there was not a speck of ketchup on any of their shirts, nor did a speck of sauce from the barbecue ribs end up on any of the kids’ shirts.

Yippee, I thought, as their plates were nearly empty. We’re in the clear!

That’s when the waitress came back, this time with nine little bowls of water for each of the kids to dip their sticky fingers in.

The dad next to me just shook his head. “Soup,” says one kid, while another sticks his straw in his bowl and starts slurping away. “Would anyone like dessert?” our waitress asked.

I hope not, I thought to myself. Imagine the damage a table full of kids could do with a chocolate eruption.