Holy Guacamole!

You're my favorite deputy!!

It's Friday night, so that means that it is Date Night for Herman and me ... our time to relax and enjoy each other's company after a long, exhausting week. We used to do these really extravagant and interesting dates when we were younger and more energetic, but lately our dates mostly consist of dinner and ... well, usually it's just dinner with talking and more talking. That's okay. I don't mind our fairly boring dates because talking with Herman is one of my favorite things to do ever. And it is never really boring.  To have some uninterrupted talk time is a gift ... a gift that we truly value now that we have built in babysitters at home, making it much easier to get away. It was always a major production to get away when the kids were younger, but now we are lucky enough to be able to just say, "We're headed out. See you in a couple of hours." So it has been our Friday night tradition to try to take some time out for us.

Well, today our traditionally boring date turned into a majorly interesting adventure. As it was taking place I looked at Herman and said, "I totally have to blog about this." So here goes:

We like to eat at a local Mexican restaurant. I won't mention its name, although locals will probably be able to guess it. The food is pretty good, and the workers are all pretty nice. I think that they lost their liquor license a while ago, so they don't get as many customers as they used to, but that never bothers us at all. It has been a while since we ate there, and we decided that tonight would be a great night for some Mexican yummies, so we made a run for the border. It started out relatively normal for an eating out experience. There were several families eating dinner, and once again Herman amazed me with his social outreach. He knew everyone in the restaurant, so he chatted with the different tables as we prepared to order.

I always get the Quesadilla Jalisco. Always. I used to be an adventurous little lady, but I have turned into a boring old lady with my habits and routines. Well, tonight I was feeling saucy, so I decided to try something new on the menu. I got a beef chimichanga. Maybe I should have stuck with the quesadillas, because things started going downhill pretty fast at this little restaurant. This is what happens when I break my routines. Really.

The food arrived really fast ... so fast that I wondered if they just reheated something in the microwave for us. But it was yummy as usual. Everyone left the building except for one other family. It was a young man from a little town in Nebraska who had just graduated from basic training today along with his mom and sister. Congrats to him! They had just ordered, and Herman and I were busy pounding our fried goodness away when quiet chaos began around us.

Here's the scene:

Our two groups are quietly sitting in the back corner of the restaurant when two sheriff's deputies come into the restaurant. There are only two workers here tonight as far as I could tell, the waiter and a cook in the back. I don't think that either one of them are the head honchos of this restaurant, but I believe that all of the workers are related somehow. At first it seemed like the two deputies were there to eat since they were just making small talk back and forth with the waiter.  But then all of the sudden the tenor of the conversation changed. Our two families got quiet as we noticed that things were not as rosy as they originally seemed.  I heard one of the deputies say that he had a court order demanding that the restaurant turn over all money on the premises. All of it. Every single dime. Obviously, the waiter was not terribly happy with this court order. How was he supposed to run the business tonight if he had no money? I will give the deputies and the waiter some kudos for keeping their conversation fairly calm. If there had been more customers at the time we might not have heard much of anything, but because there were only the six of us things were very quiet, especially now since we were all straining to hear what was going on.

The waiter told the deputies that he couldn't give over all of his money. One of the deputies raised his voice and told the waiter that he had no choice. It was a court order. Why this order had to be served during evening business hours escaped me, but it was what it was I guess. I thought that there was going to be a major shakedown right in front of us. What would we do? I quietly wondered if this newly graduated army private would have the skills to protect us if chaos erupted. And whether I would throw myself in front of Herman to save him if bullets started flying. Would I? Would the contents of my overloaded purse be enough to deflect bullets? Who would take care of my family? Why hadn't I made a will? Would I still have to complete my taxes for 2011 that are due on Monday if I was in the middle of gunfire? All of these questions went through my head in one moment.

Was gunfire getting ready to break out? Okay, not really. They were barely even raising their voices. And while the deputies were totally packing, I think the only recourse for violence with the restaurant staff would be to start flinging hot sauce. And I'm pretty sure I've got stuff in my purse that could protect me from flying hot sauce.

Well, the waiter finally must have realized that he didn't have any other choice, so we heard him open up the cash drawer and fling it at the deputy, making a huge clatter. We just looked at the other family and shrugged. What could we do? We just kept eating, pretending that nothing weird was going on around us. The waiter, after his tossing of the cash drawer, went around and cleaned up tables and brought us some more water, not showing any degree of anxiety.

This military family was from a little town in Nebraska, and at one point the mom looked at Herman and said, "Nothing like this ever happens in our little town."  They felt like they were in the big, bad metropolis of St. Robert, I guess. Like we have these raids going on weekly.

We were dying to wait around and see how this whole thing played out, but at a certain point we needed to get out of there. Now the question was ... Do we pay for our meal? Would it even matter? Or was it just going to go to pay Guido the Loan Shark? Now don't freak out. We weren't planning on running out without paying. We just didn't want to complicate things. Maybe we've been to this restaurant enough that they trusted us. I don't know. But Herman walked into the kitchen area (how does he always get away with things like this?) and asked the waiter if it would be better if we came back and paid for our meal tomorrow. ... And the guy said YES!!  How crazy is that? Of course he was in the middle of a crazy situation, so he was probably just glad that he wasn't going to have to pass any new money on to the deputies. So we left, passing the two sheriff cars parked in front of the front doors with their motors running and their lights on.

So hopefully things turned out okay for all involved. I wonder how long this restaurant is going to stay in business if they have the sheriff's department coming by in order to be what looks like collecting debts. Hopefully they can at least be open tomorrow so that we can pay for our dinner.

So it was a very non boring date night for Team Blau tonight. If the restaurant survives their debt woes we will be sure to stop by again. I do love how the waiter always says, "More water, Friend?" every time he comes by our table. ... Only next time, I'm totally ordering the Quesadilla Jalisco.