Surely it's not just me.
It's been years since I was able to leave work and go to lunch; every day, somebody (usually that means me) goes and gets whatever and brings it back, and we all eat here. Today, it was Subw@y (in Skiatook), and that's where I saw something that stunned me.
Now, I've got no bitch about Skiatook Subw@y, everything has been fine since they got rid of the one who made change and sandwiches with the plastic gloves on. It's been a long time since I've seen The Bread Squeezer, and everybody who's workin' there is a real sweetheart; especially Patty, 'cause she always remembers me and she'll make my sandwich the way I want it even if it's my brother who's standin' there instead of me.
I can recall several occasions, mostly in college, where I'd take a book or newspaper with me when I wasn't going to be able to eat in my car -- I vividly remember reading that cowboy novel alongside a plate from the P!zza Hut buffet or turning through the Owasso newspaper with greazy fingers from the Kay-Eff-See buffet.
Lots of places have free Wi-Fi now, I can understand taking a laptop along. I can totally understand the thought behind taking a book or magazine or possibly an !Pod. If you're graceful enough to manage a pen or pencil together with food, I can see circling a few classified ads or working a crossword or Sud0ku puzzle.
The nail clippers are just not something I'm interested in seeing at a table in a restaurant. Now, if you want to cut your nails over your sandwich and lemonade in the privacy of your own home or car, I guess that's your choice; but it seems to me that it's just not something one ought to be doing in a restaurant amongst several other people and their sandwiches.
Cutting someone else's fingernails with a big orange pair of scissors may be alright in your own privacy if y'all are close and really trust each other -- but doing it in the middle of a restaurant full of people is gross, and that's all I know to say about that.
Crunching and chewing and talking, I'm okay with; but the snipping and snapping of scissors on nail-flesh is the last thing I need to hear while I'm trying to decide what kind of cheese I want on my sandwich.
I'd almost bet they had a little dog in a purse under their table too.