If it takes effort for you to venture to a restaurant, your only motivation being the meal ahead, then the Rule of Fatness (ROF) may apply to you.

The last thing anyone wants to see, and the last thing I want to hear, is the question, “Waiter, will you bring another chair so my right cheek can sit down, too?”

Not only is it terrifying to watch the legs of the chair strain to hold you up, ominously foreshadowing your fall into me as I carry a tray of hot food above my head, it’s disgusting and unappetizing.

Waiters have established a term about people like you. Actually, it’s more of a rule, a rule that haunts us and unwaveringly makes our job more difficult. Never failing, ROF is as sound as Newton’s law of gravity and as basic as a rule of thumb.

The ROF, quite simply, states the largest, most obese people sit in the aisle or most conspicuous location at a table, making my job much more difficult and creating discomfort for other diners.

The upside, if you’re an attention-getter, is the pity that will flow from other diners. The downside is the embarrassment you will (or should) suffer for your weight problem.

In working banquets or large parties, there are only so many people who can fit around a single roundtable — typically eight at the most. In a party of 40, this means five tables of eight are required.

As guests arrive for a business dinner or function, or perhaps a family occasion, various seats are claimed before the dining experience commences. There is always at least one but usually multiple (and with my luck, with five tables comes five ROFers) obese diners who sweat off a few calories as they trek their way to the table from the restaurant’s entrance. Wiping their brows, they sit down — in the aisle — and catch their breath.

Because the diners are massive, the chairs that carry their weight stick out farther than anyone else’s. Especially when ROFers come in herds, it is extremely difficult for servers to maneuver around them.

There is a simple solution to this problem and its inspiration comes from a simple technique that holds a door open — it’s known as wedging. My theory is ROFers don’t want to squeeze into a table’s corner-spot because it draws attention to them or creates difficulties in maneuvering out of the table when nature calls.

First, squeezing into the corner-spot draws no more attention than does turning sideways to enter the restaurant. Second, you don’t need to use the restroom until you get home. Not only is it poor etiquette to use the restroom in the middle of a meal, no one wants to use the restroom after you’ve desecrated its sanctity. Finally, suck it up and do it (literally).

Put simply, be courteous. Other diners shouldn’t have to suffer through your grotesqueness because you lack the common courtesy to sit where you won’t obstruct the waiters from serving other guests food and drinks properly.

Servers shouldn’t have to squeeze through a one-inch space in the aisle and risk tripping, losing their balance and potentially dropping food or drinks. We will kick your chair’s legs as we walk by to indicate you’re in the way and need to move. It’s either that or tell you to your face the chef will be preparing a special low-sodium, low-fat, low-carb dinner for you this evening and your obesity is obstructing service — move.

If there are any fat-acceptance groups on campus or those who are offended by this column, I encourage you to write in and share “your side.” But I warn you, the bitterness runs deep in my heart and I will most likely laugh — not feel guilty — at the sob stories and accusations of hate speech to come.

> Comments