Last weekend, to my chagrin, Mr. and Mrs. Inattentive Parents had already established a roost inside by the time of my arrival. He was reading and she was gabbing. Neither paid much attention to the other or the kid who was busy building a giant SUV from chairs borrowed of other tables. Junior's truck wasn't wide but it was god damn long. Still on the assembly line it at least eight seats deep. He would add a chair then he would plop in the driver's seat. Hands on an imaginary wheel, he'd "whirrrrr" briefly in those sounds that parents learn to tune out. Silence never greets the end of a whirr. Instead, the sound of legs on tile; he'd append another chair to his SUV.

But I'm E.F. Hutton, remember? Mr. and Mrs. Inattentive don't notice much but they did notice me. The guy who yells at our kid. And Junior's dad decides it is appropriate to close the assembly line. He stirs to return the chairs to order. Slouched and mopey he grabs a chair and pulls it from the truck.

At this point, I had felt vindication. E.F. Hutton had been called "strange" by one blogger and a "jerk" by yet another. But action was initiated due to the mere fact of my presence. Jerk, indeed. Before my eyes, Mr. Inattentive had become slightly less of an asshole. With a renewed sense of parenting, perhaps his child would become slightly less the pain in the ass.

For a second time in three weeks, the kid started crying. Since daddy had grabbed a chair which had belonged to my table, Junior bawled just a few feet from me. During the last crying incident, a corporate officer of my company was seated just a few feet away. I scanned the room for upper management and waited for Daddy to smack his kid.

No dice.

Instead he restored the chair to its position in Junior's SUV. The wail ceased immediately and the well of tears went dry. Daddy trudge across the room and found a chair to place at my table. I sat in the booth across from the chair and proceded to read the paper...