They don’t know what to make of me. Yes? They look at me quizzically, not sure what I’m doing there. Once it took three people to figure out what I wanted. The first thought he didn’t understand me and sent me to a second, who shook his head and called over a third.
“A table? A menu? You’re serving dinner?”
One wouldn’t think it would be so difficult to communicate the desire for a table upon entering a restaurant.
“You’re waiting for someone?”
“By yourself? You want a table for yourself?”
They look at me suspiciously. But eventually I am shown a table.
At least they don’t try to give me relationship advice. That’s territory best left to taxi drivers.