I had arrived at my appointed dinner date about fifteen minutes early. The restaurant, given the early hour, before six, was empty. “I am waiting for someone. He should be here shortly.” I explained with a smile. The hostess recommended that I wait at the bar. It was a beautiful summer’s evening and the air conditioning inside was excessive. I had chosen this restaurant because of its spacious, tree-lined backyard. “I’d prefer to wait outside in the garden, please.” I said. The hostess replied, “We do not seat incomplete parties. You’ll have to wait at the bar.” Expressing my discomfort with the cold, she grudgingly led me outdoors.

About thirty tables were situated outside. They were all empty. “You can sit here.” she said and pointed to a small bare bench by the door. I imagined it as the “time-out” spot for unruly diners. I again scanned all the empty tables and asked, “May I sit down at a table?” “Not until your party is complete.” she replied. She showed no signs of appreciating the absurdity of her directive.

Undeterred, I offered a compromise. “Perhaps, I can sit at a table now, and should you need it, I’ll be happy to move and wait on the bench.” She gave my suggestion a moments thought and reluctantly gave in.

When my dinner companion arrived, the tables around us were empty still.