I’m at a restaurant in Florida with my friend Emilio when the whole table moves. I look down.
It’s on wheels. As are the chairs. They all move back and forth together on a little track.
I ask the waitress, “Doesn’t this make people’s drinks fall over?”
“All the time,” she says, “I had one guy last week who knocked his drink over three times.”
I look at the stuff on our table to see if the items are at least plastic. They’re not. Both the salt and pepper shakers are glass.
“Once,” she says, “a couple had their entire table come off the track. Lost all their food.”
I jerk my chair back and forth quickly to see if I can make the pepper fall. It does. I catch it before it hits the floor.
“So why does the restaurant do this?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she says.
The waitress shakes her head in disbelief. I shake my head also. We are in solidarity on the issue of rolling restaurant tables. We are smarter than the designers of this restaurant. Smarter than the idiot patrons.
As she starts to walk away, I am still shaking my head.
As she recedes into the distance, I stop.
And shake the table instead.
Emilio’s drink falls on Emilio.
I know an opportunity when I see it.