Here’s another savory screed from DLT’s proudly-persnickety contributor, Eric Eats Out. Check back the first Wednesday of every month as Mr. Eats Out chews up life’s greatest mysteries, including the relative location of napkins to the shirt area.

It has been alleged that “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” Clearly, it didn’t take long for such serenity to be denigrated by uncivil human beings, roaming the planet with complete disregard for their fellow inhabitants. One trip to Disneyland with your kids should be enough to convince you that people with manners are becoming as rare a sighting as Lindsay Lohan at an AA meeting. But nowhere is our society’s lack of manners more readily apparent than at restaurants.

I can accept that the world is probably a better place without a bunch of Miss Manners Clones running around. In fact, this column isn’t a rant about lack of grace at all but, rather, a specific act of incivility that is shocking not only in appearance, but mostly for its complete disregard for said offender’s sense of self-worth. Four words: Napkin Tucked Into Shirt.

According to my exhaustive research, there are exactly three scenarios in which it is acceptable to wear a bib (or napkin tucked into your shirt) at a restaurant. 1.) You have a physical disability that makes it challenging to eat without making a mess. 2.) You’re still in diapers … and I don’t mean Depend undergarments. 3.) You’re at a restaurant where the server gives out bibs to keep you from ruining your shirt while you happily dismember the crustacean or rack of ribs on the plate in front of you. With the exception of the aforementioned cases, any bib-like-device at a restaurant is categorically unacceptable and, candidly, an affront to the decency of humankind.

Oh, sure, there are plenty of cases when you might want to protect your shirt. You’re wearing a white shirt at an Italian red sauce joint, you’re scarfing-down something from the concession stand while sitting in the front row at a Gallagher performance while he detonates watermelons, or you find yourself eating soup in a tsunami. But these, my friends, are occupational hazards and, quite frankly, you should have known better.

I’m all for individual liberties. In general, I believe that people should be able to do what they want, where they want, with whoever they want provided that no one gets hurt. What you do in your own home is of no concern to me, as long as you aren’t that guy in Austria who kept his daughter locked up in a cellar beneath his house for 24 years. (I might re-think this when my daughter becomes a teenager.) However, when you’re in public please show some decency and respect to your fellow diners. At most restaurants we’re all sharing a relatively small space, and it’s bad enough that I have to inhale your various germs and bodily emissions, much less eat while having to be concerned that part of your Double Deep Fried Awesome Onion Blossom might land on my body because you can’t get it into your mouth.

At the risk of offending many of you (like I haven’t’ done that before), I’ve noticed that many people who tuck their napkins into their shirts are the same people that drive minivans. It’s quite logical, actually. To me, driving a minivan says that you rank “convenience” among the most important factors when choosing a vehicle. Your kids can climb-in all by themselves, it’s easy to load your groceries, and there is room for you and your offspring to spread-out while you collectively strafe the floor with fast food wrappers and action figures. Effectively, it is as if you have given up, thrown-in the proverbial towel. Who gives a shit that I’m driving the modern day equivalent of a mini-bus when I have three televisions, remote-controlled doors and seven moon-roofs.” Similarly, why give a shit that you look like a buffoon with your paper napkin tucked into your collar at Five Guys, when all it would take to maintain your dignity would be for you to sit up straight, regulate your rate of intake, and let gravity take care of the rest?  Because it’s gross, that’s why.  With very few exceptions, civility trumps convenience.

Eating should be fun. In his book entitled Medium Raw, Anthony Bourdain argues that food bloggers (like me) take the fun out of eating because we’re too busy scrutinizing every detail, photographing our meals and documenting every last molecule on the plate.  =And I think that, to some extent, such criticism is valid. But, in my book, “having fun” is different than “being a slob.” One can enjoy her meal, relax, and engage in joyous banter with friends as depicted in commercials for The Olive Garden while still avoiding the need to wear a full body condom, or some semblance thereof.

Sadly, I’ve learned to expect very little from people. Karma will take care of the fact that you rent an electric scooter to get around Sea World merely because you’re too fat to walk, yet have no underlying health problem. Same with those people who think that 15% is a generous tip (always pre-tax, by the way), don’t hold the door, and treat the bus-boy with indignity.  But, if you aren’t going to respect the people around you then at least respect yourself.  And the easiest way to do so is to look like a grown up, not an infant.

Drop the steak knife, remove the napkin from your collar, and gently place it on your lap. Thank you.

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