And on the way over to the restaurant, I thought about how they don't allow dogs on their patio. I was thinking about this because every time I leave the apartment without her, Lola does this on the glass patio door:
The picture truly does not do it justice. It ought to be a video, so that you can see her frantically scrabbling her front paws against the door. Her paws go takka-takka-takka-takka-takka-takka on the glass, and I swear, one day I'm going to come back and find claw-shaped gouges in the door, at exactly her height.
Last time Jeff and I had dinner at this restaurant, I called ahead and asked if they allow dogs on their patio. They don't. At dinner, I asked our waiter why not (and that's a story in and of itself). However, in the course of the conversation, he did mention that sometimes people sit on the patio, at a table next to the wrought-iron fence, and their dog sits on the other side of the fence.
On the other side of the fence? Excuse me? What if she needs some water? What if she needs me to scratch her ears? What if she needs tummy rubbles? The very idea is repellent. I am not going to treat my dog like a second-class citizen. If Lola can't sit on my lap, I'm not bringing her.
So as I drove to meet Jeff at the restaurant, I couldn't help but indulge in this little fantasy:
(Lola and I sit down at a table by the fence. Lola is, of course, well-behaved and adorable.)
Waiter: I'm sorry, you can't bring a dog in here.
Me (giving him a withering glare): Excuse me?
Waiter: I'm sorry. We don't allow dogs.
Me: And why's that?
Waiter: Sorry, I don't know. It's just the policy.
Me: Oh? Oh, it's the policy. I'm sorry, I thought you had a rational reason for not allowing my small and well-behaved dog to sit under my chair for the next hour.
Waiter: I'm sorry, ma'am, but you can't have the dog in here. If you want, you can have her on the other side of the fence.
Me (standing up with scornful dignity): I'm sorry, young man, are you suggesting that I enjoy a meal and a few drinks while my dog waits on the other side of the fence?
Waiter: Um. Yes?
Me: And this is -- let us be perfectly clear -- not because of any particular reason, but because of your policy?
Waiter: Look, lady, I don't make the rules...
Me: Are you aware that we are in Austin?
Waiter: Geez, lady...
Me: Ladies and gentlemen! (I stand on my chair and tap a wine-glass with a fork.) I apologize for interrupting your evening, but I must ask -- are any of you allergic to dogs?
(The crowd looks at each other in confusion.)
Me: Are any of you frightened of dogs?
(A few calls of "No" and "No way" from the crowd.)
Me: Ladies and gentlemen, humans of all races and creeds, I would like to introduce you to -- Lola! (I hold Lola aloft. She charms the crowd with adorableness. There are a few scattered cheers.)
Me: My friends (really warming up to the John-McCain-Town-Hall vibe now), my friends, this is Lola. A few short months ago, Lola was lost and alone. No one loved her. Her own family allowed her eye to become so infected that the SPCA had to surgically remove it!
(A few boos, one guy shouts "Let's lynch 'em!")
Me: No, no, we don't need any of that. We're running a clean campaign here. But I just want you to take a good look at Lola. She's loved, she's well-fed, she's healthy. And she is so grateful to have a good home. She's nothing but loving and kind. She's no trouble at all.
(Pause for dramatic effect. A few of the women go, "aww.")
Me: And now, these corporate big-wigs want to make Lola stay outside the fence. Can you believe it? This small, inoffensive dog, who has been through so much in her short life, and she has to stay outside. Not because of any particular reason. Not because the owner dislikes dogs. But just because of policy. Ladies and gentlemen, it's time to take a second look at our policies. I saw Lola's mother die while she fought with the insurance companies to try to prove that her cancer wasn't a pre-existing condition, and that was because of policy. Not for any real reason, no -- in fact, my friends, no one here can give us a single real reason. It's because of policy. It's because that's the way it is. I don't know about you, but I'm tired of following the meaningless rules that other people set for us! I'm tired of letting the corporate fat-cats boss us around! It is time for some change! Change we can believe in!
(The crowd goes wild, they're all applauding, half of them are on their feet. A few of them give a wolf-whistle at me, which I acknowledge with a wink.)
Me: Ladies and gentlemen, we can't put up with this kind of obsolete regulation any more. We need more oversight of these corporations so they can't play merry hell with our stock market like the last two weeks. It's time for a full-on, grand-scale reworking of how we do things around here. We've had eight years of dogs not being allowed on this patio -- we don't need another four!
(The crowd is beside themselves now, throwing confetti, popping champagne, throwing their panties at me.)
Me: If you believe, as I do, that we can truly change America for the better, then you know what to do. Change starts at home. It might not be fun. It might not be easy. But we should all bring our dogs to restaurants with patios, and refuse to put them outside the fence!!!
(Massive cheers and hoopla.)
Me: And if those corporate big-wigs try to tell you about the rules, you just tell them this: look, buddy, George Washington didn't freeze his ass off in Valley Forge for us to sit around arguing over whether my lapdog can be in my lap, or two feet away from me!!!
(More cheering. A few girls chant, all together, "We love you, Lola!")
Me: Black and white, Sunni and Shiite, Christian Scientist and Pentecostal -- we all need to come together, now! It's time to stop the hate! Let's make the world a better place!
(A few more cheers.)
Me: Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I'll be sitting down now, to enjoy my sake bomber and california roll. AND LOLA WILL BE ON MY LAP!!!
(The crowd is going insane. I sit down demurely, smooth down my skirt, set Lola on my lap, and smile at the waiter.)
Me: I'm sorry, you were saying?
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