Pasta Pete’s was a buzzing cauldron of activity. Families with screaming ‘kids’ sat at every table while waiters in tacky white shirts, red bow-ties and black suspenders rushed about with large trays of food. It was a cheap family restaurant alright, complete with red and white checked plastic table-cloths and pictures of stereotypical Italian street scenes on the walls.
As they waited for a table to open up Brian looked around at the other families seated or waiting for a table. Men a few years older than him twisted back and forth excitedly while parents held their hands. A 40-ish woman tied a bib around the neck of a messy-faced young lady about their age. Brian decided that in this new world children stayed infants much longer than normal but then rather suddenly grew up between age eighteen and thirty. He saw no appreciable difference in behaviour between kids who looked sixteen and those who looked ten.
After ten minutes of excruciating waiting in the crowded entry area a man in a stupid waiter outfit topped off with a straw boater hat appeared with a set of menus. He looked over the assembled family and smiled pleasantly at them. He didn’t groan at the sight of a gaggle of unhygienic and potentially vagrant young adults in a restaurant without shoes. All he saw was a group of cute twenty-year old toddlers.
“Welcome to Pasta Pete’s! Follow me please,” he directed.
The table was made up for them already. Two of the chairs were quite different from the rest. They couldn’t really be called high-chairs because of course they didn’t lift their occupants any higher than the normal seats. Yet they looked like high-chairs. They even had straps to buckle occupants into them. Three other chairs at the table had red booster seats on them. The trio knew these were for them and they took their special seats without comment. They had been sat next to each other, a cup of crayons and three placemats with lots of kids’ puzzles and games laid out before them.
