“Are you finished?” the grandmotherly proprietor of the Greek restaurant wants to know. My half-eaten shrimp gyro lays on the plate. It turns out I don’t quite like the strong taste of olives.
“Yes, thank you,” I respond politely.
“Look at this,” she motions at my plate. “Why you waste so much food?” Her accent still has a strong hint of her Mediterranean homeland despite years of living in America, which also means she’s likely still got some of that famous Mediterranean temper in her, too. Not good. Seriously, have you seen the news? Athens is literally burning right now because the Greeks are furious that they have to get their finances in order.
“I’m sorry! It was good! I just had a big breakfast.” I’m lying of course, but I’m looking for the diplomatic way out.
“She finished her food!” Grandma motions at my lovely lunch companion, who ate all of her Greek fries and the vast majority of her beef-and-lamb gyro, leaving only a few bits of pita bread on her plate. I had ordered the shrimp at the last moment, wavering between that and the traditional gyro. I really should have gone with the traditional.
“I’m sorry. I just wasn’t that hungry.” This is getting uncomfortable. I think I’m starting to squirm. The LLC looks amused. It’s been decades since a grandmother has chewed me out. I sort of forgot how helpless you are in those situations. When your parents chew you out, it’s almost natural to lash out. It’s the age-old tension between parental authority and filial rebellion. But when grandma chews you out, you just feel terrible.
“Think of all the starving people, and you waste food,” Grandma says, not letting me off the hook. I have nothing left, so I shrug my shoulders in defeat. Grandma takes the plate away and goes to the kitchen. The LLC waits till Grandma’s out of sight before she has fun with this.
Grandma comes back with the bill. She shoots me another look when she realizes that I’m not picking up the LLC’s share. I’m totally disappointing her on so many levels right now. Strangely enough, I still leave a decent tip. The LLC and I get out of there.
Time to turn lemons into lemonade. “New idea for a startup,” I say. “Grandmotherly disappointment on demand, for those who need to feel guilty. I forgot just how devastating it can be.”
You laugh now, but you won’t when it makes millions. Grandmas are fearsome things.
