I’ve only been kicked out of a restaurant once in my life. If you’ve never had the unique privilege of being escorted out the door of a BBQ joint while 20+ people awkwardly look on and try not to stare, I’ll allow you to live vicariously through me this one time. You’re welcome.
It was August 2008. I had just turned 21 years old and was entering the second semester of my Master’s Degree program at Piedmont College. My husband, then fiance, was deployed to Afghanistan and I decided to get an MBA to help pass the time in a productive way. My college roommate and I moved out of the dormitories and into a townhouse located in the small town of Cornelia, just a few miles away from the college.
It was a roomy townhouse on the end of an 8-unit strip with a large back yard and carpet that desperately needed to be replaced. We paid $50 more a month than our neighbors because our unit came with a dishwasher…one of life’s finest luxuries. It had a large living room, dining room, and kitchen on the bottom floor, and just up the stairs were two bedrooms with a tiny bathroom in the middle that we shared. It wasn’t the Taj Mahal, but it was perfect for us. Some of my greatest memories live immortally within those walls.
My roommate’s boyfriend was also in the military, so we spent a lot of our down time watching chick-flicks together on our yard-sale-find floral sofa. Life was simple, yet happy, for the most part. But something was missing.
“Let’s get a dog,” I suggested one day. It wasn’t hard to convince my roommate, being that we were both avid animal lovers. The only stipulation was that I would be responsible for the dog and she would lovingly play the role of “Godmom.” So after a few Craigslist searches, my roommate sent me a picture of a red, smooth-haired miniature dachshund puppy just placed for sale a few hours away. I called my parents who lived nearby and all but bribed them to go pick her up for us until I could get out of class and go meet them to get her.
The day couldn’t go by fast enough. As soon as we were both free, my roommate and I hopped in my 1995 Toyota Camry and drove the hour and 1/2 drive to meet my dad halfway to pick up our new fur baby. When I pulled into the church parking lot where we were meeting him, I saw my dad walking around in a patch of grass….but no dog.
He better not have left her behind without telling me! I panicked.
Just then, I saw the head of a puppy….no, more like the head of a mouse, peek above the blades of grass. Little beady eyes looked on between her long, floppy ears. She was so tiny and cute! She happily started hopping through the grass like a bunny until we got out and scooped her up, covering her tiny furry face in kisses. Her small, pink tongue emerged and she licked us back instinctively. We soaked in the sweetness of her puppy breath and took turns cuddling her in the palms of our hands. Gracie we named her. She was perfect…and our hearts were full.
The next day, whilst I was still living in the euphoric cloud of new-puppy bliss, a friend from school invited me to have lunch with him at the new BBQ restaurant in town before class. Never being one to turn down an opportunity to eat, I agreed. But what to do with Gracie? I wondered. She had slept nearly the entire time since I brought her home and hadn’t made so much as a peep. She is clearly very well-behaved and trustworthy…and I do hate to leave her at home alone after I just brought her here…she would be so scared, I thought. And the car is not an option because it’s August in the South and wayyy too hot, even with the windows down. Yes, there was only one solution: I would take her with me.
My friend, unlike my roommate and me, was not a dog lover. In fact, when he realized that I had a dog in my purse, I think he considered cancelling on the spot–and in hindsight I wish he had.
We were seated at a table in the very center of the restaurant. It was a small place…only 10 tables total, with four lined on each wall and two in the middle. The place had only been open a few weeks and I was anxious to try it. I gently sat my large purple bag on the floor next to my chair. I left the top zipper partially open to allow plenty of air flow. I peeked in discretely and saw that she was sleeping. Phew! Everything is going according to plan. I thought. I have no idea what my friend was so worried about. I ordered the BBQ pulled pork platter complete with two sides and a drink and handed my menu back to our waitress.
Our food emerged from the kitchen surprisingly fast. Our plates had just barely reached our table when suddenly I heard a noise. A whimper maybe? Oh no, Gracie is waking up, I thought. I’ll zip the bag up a little more so that she can’t escape.
Just then, I heard what sounded like the souls of 100 hound dogs escaping through my tiny dog’s lungs from within my bag. “Oooooh! Ooooooooh! Oooooooooohhhhhhhhh!!!!” she cried. It sounded as if she were being tortured! I had never heard such a loud cry in my life. My heart started pounding so hard it was nearly audible. Maybe no one will notice, I thought. The confused glances and snickering of fellow patrons in our direction told me otherwise.
I looked down and saw a tiny furry head escaping out the small hole of my purse, nose in the air, as if she had just smelled her last meal from the depths of solitary confinement. I quickly put my hand down and shoved her head back in…unsuccessfully. She is so strong! I marveled. When I pushed, she dodged, and soon she began using her tiny paws to start digging and clawing around my hands until half her body was exposed. The howls got louder.
A large man appeared from the kitchen. Oh no, he looks important, I thought. Please don’t come over…please don’t come over…I pleaded inside my head.
“Ma’am?” he said.
I suddenly became intensely fascinated with my fork. Maybe if I pretend like I don’t speak English he will walk away.
“Ma’am??” he repeated, louder this time.
I gave him a slow, sideways glance upwards as if to say, “Who? Me?” But by that point the entire restaurant was staring in my direction so I realized I needed a new tactic. Before I could get my new game plan together…
“Ma’am, you can’t have a dog in the restaurant.” He said sternly.
“Dog?” I said curiously, as if I had no idea what he was talking about. Shoot….he’s on to me. Play dumb, quick.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave. It’s against our health codes to have an animal in the restaurant.”
My face turned several shades of red. I slowly bent down and picked up my bag, not glancing up for fear I would accidentally make eye contact with someone. I turned and walked out to the sound of crickets chirping in the background with the manager following close behind me to make sure I made it to the door.
“Welp, that got awkward fast,” I said to my friend when he walked outside. “Sorry…”
My friend handed me a styrofoam box with my entire untouched meal inside. Nothing like a good friend to redeem an embarrassing situation, I thought. Unfortunately even a cute puppy couldn’t redeem their sawdust-tasting barbecue and the restaurant closed permanently just a few weeks later.
I never heard if they closed due to a reported health code violation or not, but I did learn a valuable lesson that day. BBQ is probably best eaten in a restaurant without a puppy hidden in your purse. Gracie is still alive, surprisingly, after that ordeal and she will turn 10 years old this summer. I’m (mostly) over the embarrassment of being kicked out of a restaurant for the first (and hopefully only) time. Maybe as a special thanks for the memory I’ll take her out on her birthday for barbecue this year….
On second thought……Nahhhhhhhhh.
New Jenneration 
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