On Sundays I like to go to The Modern for lunch.
“Do you have space at the bar?” I asked the maître d'.
“Well,” she said. “At the moment I don’t have space at the bar. But I can seat you at our lounge tables.” ‘Let’s try it,” I said.
Lounge tables didn’t sound too horrible.
But the table I got was like a table for prisoners, about ten feet from the men’s room.
I waited five minutes; nobody approached me. One client hesitated before entering the men’s room. He must have thought that I was the lavatory attendant.
Then I left the restaurant quietly.
The food is good at The Modern; the bartender is charming. But it will take some time before I go back there.