Swamp People

Today, January 1, was GG2's sixth birthday. She chose, mercifully, to go to Chopstix for lunch, a local Chinese buffet. I was praying she wouldn't pick Pizza Hut because some of us have difficulty controlling ourselves at Pizza Hut and eat enough to make a grown man envious. Anyway, the Geek Family was all seated at a large table, chowing down, some of us eating more ravenously than others, when a large family came and sat down at the table next to us. This family was large in number, two adults and four younger people, teenagers I guess, and large in girth. The smallest person was easily a deuce and a quarter. I noticed immediately and judged the large family; there was a distinct air of redneck about them, or perhaps Swamp People. Which happens to be one of my favorite shows, so the judgment passed on the Swamp People Large Family was not necessarily a negative one. I enjoy watching people, especially ones that I consider to be extraordinary examples of humanity, in whatever form that extraordinariness happens to take. For instance, when my mom had cancer one of our favorite things to do was sit near the door to the cancer clinic and watch the denizens walk by. You would not believe the things we saw. We usually got to her appointment early to make sure that she was signed in and had her blood work done in a timely fashion; the bonus round was watching the freakish people who frequented the facility.

So there we were, seated at Chopstix, munching on egg rolls and fried won tons, me watching the Swamp People surreptitiously, fascinated with how they managed to cover their bodies with T shirts designed for smaller people, wondering what the maximum load capacity was of the chairs they sat in, and performing complicated mathematical equations in my mind as I wondered what the overhead cost versus profit was for Chopstix since the Swamp People seemed to have settled in for the duration. After the Swamp People had all had at least two plates of food, they started talking. Loudly. With Swamp People accents. I perked up at the sound of their droning voices, hoping that I could hear their conversation. I am shameless. I admit that. The biggest of the teenage Swamp People began to tell a story about Uncle Donny. I listened carefully, so this is actually what he said.

"So then I told Junior that I wanted Uncle Donny's glass eye when he died. And Junior was like, 'What? Uncle Donny has a glass eye?' And I said, 'Yeah, dummy, how could you not know that Uncle Donny has a glass eye? He's blind, for cryin' out loud!'" I turned to GH to see if he was listening to the Swamp People, since he and I share a similar love of observing (i.e. eavesdropping) on others' conversations. He was fiddling with MOS, who had a fried chicken leg in his hand and was loudly announcing that he was, and I quote, "Gonna eat this chicken rump."

I turned, reluctantly away from the Swamp People, and directed my gaze at MOS. "Sweetie, that's not a chicken rump. It's a chicken leg."

MOS, doing a pretty good Swamp Person imitation, said, "No, Mama, it's a chicken rump. Daddy told me so." He glared at me, waving the chicken leg about. I prayed the Swamp People could continue their conversation after I finished dealing with MOS because I really wanted to hear more about Uncle Donny and how he came to possess a glass eye.

As if to prove a point, MOS took a big bite of the chicken leg. Satisfied that he was content for a moment, I turned my attention back to the Swamp People. Alas, their conversation had ceased because they had all started on a new plate from the buffet. A bit despondent, I was just about to turn back to MOS when I heard a familiar, albeit dismal, sound. The sound of a three year old vomiting up chicken rump into his lap. As GH frantically grabbed for napkins and GG1 scooted back from the table and squealed, I could feel the Swamp People's curious gazes. After tossing a wad of napkins at GH, telling GG1 not to make a big deal of the incident, and pulling Tiny off the table where she was crawling towards Daddy to help, I noticed the Swamp People surreptitiously watching me. Most likely they were hoping to see more of a scene, possibly more vomit or even a bit of blood. Maybe they were hoping someone would faint and be carried out on a stretcher. Or maybe they were just wondering how such a trashy family could stand to go out in public, what with a three year old who couldn't even make it through a buffet lunch without projectile vomiting all over himself.

I did notice one other unusual thing about the Swamp People before we slunk out of Chopstix, fortune cookies crammed in our pockets and to-go cups filled with Sprite. The smallest of the Swamp People had on a rather interesting T shirt. I noticed it when he returned from yet another trip to the buffet. His shirt said, and I am so not kidding, "Sorbonne Universite, Paris." Well, don't that beat all. Here those Swamp People went to Paris and I was convinced that my barfing preschooler was the most interesting sight they'd ever seen.