I visited my grandmother in Boca Raton, Florida a few weeks ago. We had a great time hanging out at the beach, enjoying the 80 degree (F) weather, and embarassing myself at the golf course. I was a bit mad that the temperature was high for Boston when I got back, as if I had not properly utilized my escape to its fullest potential. Like if you get a starman in Mario Bros. and there aren’t any enemies around. Just a waste.
The temperature dropped pretty fast and even snowed when I got back. Stupid Boston.
Anyway, the most consistent element to Boca Raton is a refusal to wait for anything, especially food. I found this odd since virtually everyone I saw in Boca was retired and presumably had no reason to rush around like a headless chicken. But they love to do this regardless.
I got my first taste the night I flew in. My grandmother took me to a frozen yogurt place after dinner. For a Saturday night at 10pm, there were plenty of people here. See the photographic evidence:
I swear there is a line. Several, in fact.
As soon as I got in line, people were cutting in front of me from both sides. I felt like they were trying to play the “I’m old and don’t know what I’m doing so just let me by” card, but that doesn’t really work when 99% of the store is trying to play that card. My grandmother gave me a look that said, “hold your ground!”
Pretty soon the queue split into three lines. I found this particularly odd since there were only two guys serving ice cream (the third was arguing with a customer over the eighty cents for a topping). Naturally, when the three lines ended at two workers, chaos ensued, with more cutting in line. Another guy felt the need to complain that the coffee, at an ice cream store at 10pm, was not fresh enough.
Once we got our orders in and got outside with our ice cream, there was a large group of seniors arguing about how they should hire more people. They were there the entire time my grandmother ate her ice cream and seemed to show no inclination that they would move any time soon. My only explaination is that Boca hates lines – it has nothing to do with time.
My next encounter with the gonzo lines was at a delicatessen called Poppies’. Every time the server would call out “table for four,” everyone would flash how many were in their party. Whether there were two people in their party made no difference. Six person groups would be flashing both hands, even if the empty table was for two. Nobody seemed to understand that the server would call the first person in line, not the first person to raise their hand. Naturally, even the people at the back of the line would respond, knowing full well that they were not the only four person group.
There was another guy who thought that because he was the only three-person group, he had the trump card. As if they had triangular tables, I guess.
When we made it halfway to the front, nobody wanted the booth near to the dessert counter. I have no issue with desserts, so we skipped half the line and sat down. For people so excited to get a table, they didn’t really seem too excited to get a table.
Nintendo would make a killing here if they sold game boys by the entrance to the Cheesecake Factory.
