Maybe They Were Telepaths

My parents offered to take my wife and me out for lunch to a place my mum had selected, one of those “gastropub” places you see popping up all over the UK. She chose well, as the food was delicious, the menu was varied, portion sizes were excellent, and the service was very professional. We really enjoyed our lunch. The weird bit was this.

On this particular Sunday afternoon, the place wasn’t really very busy; there were just a few families like us and a couple of barflies. Almost all the other patrons were, like us, fairly typical of the sort of clientele you’d find in a place like this, in the sense that they were chatting, laughing, and generally enjoying themselves. I say, “almost all,” because the three people at the table behind ours were most definitely the exception.

They were an elderly couple and their adult son who arrived around the same time we did. They looked at their menus and spoke to the waitress only to order drinks and food. The rest of the time they sat there in total silence. And I really mean that. While waiting for their food, the three of them sat there looking daggers at each other. When they got their food, there was still no conversation, not even of the, “Oh, that looks delicious,” or, “How’s the chicken?” variety. Throughout the entire meal, they just stared at each other.

I bet Christmas is a bundle of laughs in that household.