Slow Service Steams the Customers at 'Cavanaugh Cafe'

Everyone has his own agenda. I know I do. My Maureen, who is 9, certainly does.
Most of the time her agenda is pretty free-wheeling and easy to live with. Once in a while, she gets an idea on how she would like things to be done and, boy, we had better do it her way.
She had one of her ideas the other night. Our good friend, Molly, was over for a casual summer dinner. Also visiting for the day were two cousins, Molly and Anne.
In preparation for the meal, I instructed Maureen, Machaela and Anne to set the table on the screened porch. They did this, and a few minutes later Maureen appeared in the kitchen with some paper and a pen.
"What are we having for dinner?" she asked.
After I listed the proposed courses, she asked Molly to write everything down for her because she couldn 't spell marinated vegetables: "First write entree, and then everything else."
A few minutes later, John entered the kitchen carrying the meat he had cooked on the grill and we were ready to sit down to eat, or so I thought.
As I called everyone to come to the porch for dinner, Maureen was running back and forth by the porch doors yelling to everyone that she wasn't ready.
"You're ruining everything," she told the kids.
"See what's wrong with her," I told Colleen.
After checking, Colleen came back and said, "She's mad because we didn't see her sign taped to the door that says, 'Wait to be seated.' "
"Oh, well, everyone go back into the family room," I instructed. John, Molly and I proceeded to get the food organized with the intention of fixing everyone's plates when we noticed Maureen
throwing herself up and down on the couch.
"Maybe we better see what she wants," John suggested.
"We're trying to have a restaurant and nobody is cooperating," Maureen wailed.
"We can still do it if you stop carrying on and hurry up before the food gets cold," I told her.
She calmed down long enough to finish writing her menus, and then we all had to pretend that we were patrons at the Cavanaugh Cafe.
When we arrived at her specified entrance, I said, "We'd like a table for 12."
"Do you have a reservation? What's your name?" Maureen asked.
After I told her my name she looked at her list, shook her head and said, "I don't believe you have a reservation. We can't seat you." Then she looked at our guest and asked her name.
When Molly told her, Maureen said, "Yes, your name is on here."
"We're with her," I said.
"Her reservation is only for three. You can't all be with her,"
Maureen responded.
I was getting rather steamed up as I visualized the steam rising from our corn on the cob.
"What other names are on your list. We'll change ours."
She read, "Ally Sheedy."
"I'll be her," cousin Molly said.
"Katherine Hepburn."
"That's me," I said. Then she read names of members of a rock group who Johnny and Mike chose to be . I said, "The rest of these people are our fans. Can we please sit down now?"
"Of course," Maureen answered. "Anne and Machaela, show our guests to the table."
"At last," I thought, "we get to eat."
But we didn't. First we had to read the menu and then wait to be served. Once again, things didn't go as smoothly as Maureen thought it should. All the orders were different. We all wanted corn, but some wanted meat and no rice and some wanted rice and no
meat. I just wanted to get out of there.
Finally, to my amazement, we all had plates of food in front of us. And just as I was congratulating myself for passing another test of motherhood, Maureen announced, "For dessert we're having blueberry cobbler. I'll serve it as soon as I beat the whipping cream
with the electric mixer."
No longer did it seem like we were engaged in a young girl's creative endeavors. It seemed more like a plot to push me off that narrow edge I spend each day teetering on.
After regaining my composure, I said to Maureen, "Either you hire me as the pastry chef for the Cavanaugh Cafe and I fix the cobbler or we leave your establishment without leaving a tip."
Now that this gala event is over, do I look back and smile?
Let me put it this way. This is one time when the story is funnier if you weren' t there.
July 30, 1986