I walk through the door and immediately I feel the person look around to see if anyone is coming through the door behind me. They look at me and ask the traditional question “How many?” The dreaded moment has arrived. The moment where I have to admit that a table for one is all I need.
I don’t want to go in and ask for a table for one. People will stare. They will take pity on me and my single status. If I am asking for a table for one I must be pathetic and have no friends.
I would have never gone to a restaurant alone before I moved to the city.
My new and mostly fabulous life in the city comes with 3 roommates and one fridge. I am suppose to have half a shelf and share a drawer and should be able to put large items on the top shelf. The reality is that I have a crisper drawer that I keep everything in and one shelf on the door that I put condiments and beer. The top shelf is crammed with multiple milks and juices so there is rarely any room. The freezer is packed with lean cuisine meals and ice cream that I can’t even add anything. This one fridge is the single reason that I have conquered my fear of the table for one.
When I first started trying to walk into restaurants alone I would wander around the neighborhood trying to gather the courage to go any to any of the restaurants that looked good. I started out small by going into diners or places with counters. A pizza place was a good option at first. I tried a place for grilled cheese one night because the only other person eating there was also at a table for one. My step up from that was to go to a restaurant far away from foot traffic with smaller windows so people walking by wouldn’t be tempted to think about what a bummer it must be to be me.
After two months of braving the restaurants alone I will now walk straight into any restaurant and ask for a table for one. I finally realized I can sit in my tiny room being bummed about the capacity of a common household appliance or I can see the world even if it has to be alone.
