Ritz Rampage

Last Edit January 15, 1999

My younger son, his boss from the camera store, a female coworker and a female travel agent go out for Crabby Monday at the local Red Lobster.
They have made this adventure before. Weekly.
Pig out time - all you can eat.
They have bragged about this. Relayed the event with gusto.
So, they decided that I would join them. So I did.
The greeter blanched on our arrival. This group has a reputation.
They gave us a new waitress. Spread the joy around.
They have passed this group from section to section. The group knows the servers by name. The servers know them. I'm not sure about this.
I ordered hot tea. And butterflied shrimp. I like shrimp. All twelve of them. No bread, no desert.
I have made it through Christmas, Thanksgiving and New Years feeling not any thicker. Where my body still has the ability to get thick. I behaved. I was good.
I can't say that for the others.
They ordered Crabby Monday and soda - by the pitcher.
Then this group, while waiting for the first platters to arrive, commenced playing hockey puck with Sweet n Low Pink packets. Sugar packets are allowed. Equal is not. Blue is deemed a memory loss packet and not allowed on the table. They don't explain this reasoning here. I am indifferent - I use either one when fixing my decaf - non-fat-non-sugar instant flavored coffee.
I gathered that they become anxious when not immediately fed. They time the servers. The table top is well polished and slick. The packets race around. Occasionally falling on the floor. Moreoften ending up in various parts of the receiver's attire or anatomy.
They get stares. I participate a little. Must be social after all. An over 50 year old professional sitting in a restaurant scittering sugar substiture around. Right. The food comes - with buckets, wetnaps, pliers and special forks, napkins (bibs really) and platters.
Platters of crablegs.
And more platters. The trick for the server is not to let the buckets overflow or the platters be empty.
Their last Crabby Monday was a total of 47 leg clusters. That's about 26 crabs. Give or take a random leg.
For five people.
My son lead the pack.
They brag about this.
They throw leg clusters abound the table. When someone needs one, one flies thru the air.
"Refill."
Toss.
One occasionally goes on the floor.
So what. It's in a shell.
Too salty? That's what the soda is for.
This time, my son eats crab meat with out eating his potato and cheesy biscuits. Big mistake. Crab meat is rich,
I get a performance. I get explanations - not hot enough? Hard to remove the meat.
They don't like it cold. So shells fly. They race.
The server is good. Platters arrive in pairs. Buckets are dumped. There is a veritable flow of crab legs.
I eat my shrimp and watch.
My son collects all the cheesy biscuits around him. His and everyone else's. And the pitchers.
They rush through the platters.
Hot is better. Speed counts. They demonstrate.
I finish my shrimp.
I've lost count of the platters.
I have two cups of hot tea.
I take notes. On napkins.
They argue about who is eating fast enough. They are going for a record.
They want King Crab - served if the rest runs out.
Uh huh.
My son is threatened with a knife.
He is humming the Lollipop song while fiddling with his crab legs.
He's evidently been warned before.
He quiets down.
17 going on five.
They discuss Star Ship Troopers. Seen that? Walking crab legs. The image is too close. I'll stick to shrimp.
They discuss Steven King Movies.
I avoid those. I spend enough time hiding behind my son's broad sholder as it is without picking a true horro film.
My son gets his second wind.
He has paused. He says he has a bubble. (That's not what I called it later on at midnight. When he purged the entire dinner!)
For now, he pauses.
They complain that he is slowing down. They egg him on.
Crack. Crack. Crack. More shells.
They fly into your hair. Bounce off the ceiling. The buckets are still upending on empty platters and new platters are still arriving.
They speed up. They crack in unison.
I am all amazement.
They discuss cracking shells in time to the background music.
After an hour and a half, they are slowing down as a group.
We discuss cats. And their stalking habits. It comes to mind since I just know what Ranger would do with a crab leg. He's a veritable riot with a turkey.
The women slow down more. They will stop first. They notice that my son has a special twirl he gives to the tendons before discarding them. It freaks them out.
Now the campaign is down to the men.
And my son is staggering.
They give in.
I got to taste a piece of cold crab leg. Salty. Not bad. Better hot.
The bill arrives with a body count.
62 leg clusters.
For four people.
Ye gads.
And they begin planning next week.