In Defense of Indoor Seating (In Which Our Descendants Curse Our Cavalier Attitude)

My wife loves to sit outside at restaurants. I get it. She loves the feel of the breeze, adores the sun. It at once energizes and relaxes her. I know she’s not alone in this.

I, on the other hand, would choose indoor seating. Every time. And I’d like to try to explain and defend my choice. It’s a reasonable one, I think, and not simply that I sunburn in the shade or have a propensity to sweat when exposed to temps above 68 degrees, both of which are sadly true. No, it runs deeper than that, fueled by a philosophy of life that is aware of and feels deeply for future generations. You see, I’ve observed enough pop culture to know that, when the zombie apocalypse/asteroid collision/alien invasion/World War III occurs, and we lose all power and climate control capabilities, we will look back on the days we chose not to sit in air-conditioned comfort, away from the flies and gnats and humidity and scorching sun and backfiring low-riders, back to a far superior dining environment that clearly we were blessed to have, and we will weep bitterly at the opportunities we missed, as we sweat and swear and swat away flies. As any reasonable, rational human being would, this is what I ponder as we walk past the cool, comfortable, joyful diners to our sweltering patio table. Every time.

So, the next time you’re offered the choice, think of your great grandchildren, sitting atop a large rock prying a rusty unlabeled can open with a homemade shiv, and give the reasonable response: “Inside, please.”