In Which I Almost Turn Around and Smack The Total Ignoramus Sitting Next To Me in Saigon Grill

There's a great scene in Annie Hall, which I should mention is my favorite movie of all time. In fact, this might be my favorite scene in my favorite movie of all time, so you know it's good. Woody Allen and Diane Keaton, scuse me, Alvy Singer and Annie Hall, are on line at the movie theatre, and they overhear this horribly pretentious man making all sorts of comments about film, particularly the films of Marshall McLuhan. Finally Alvy gets so fed up that he turns around and joins in the argument. The pretentious man snootily informs him that he teaches a class on film at NYU and knows what he is talking about. "Oh yeah?' says Alvy/Woody. "Well, I just happen to have Mr. McLuhan right here. And he pulls him out from behind, I think, a vending machine. And it really is Marshall McLuhan, apparently, though I confess I haven't the slightest idea who Marshall McLuhan actually is, apart from the guy that Woody Allen pulls out from behind the vending machine. And the real Marshall McLuhan lets the pretentious guy have it.
I used to fantasize about this sort of thing all the time at college. You know, college is just filled with pretentious people who think they know a lot. In my English seminars, I just happened to have James Joyce and Walt Whitman right there. In Civil War History, it was Lincoln. In Major Western Religions, I just happened to have God right there. It was always a nice fantasy, watching Joyce with his glasses and Irish accent, or Whitman with his beard, telling that really annoying girl to shut up.
This evening my boyfriend and I were eating Vietnamese food, spinach dumplings and grilled eggplant, and having a nice conversation about something or other. (My boyfriend is not the one I almost smacked.) The people sitting next to us were having a heated conversation, and I wasn't really paying attention until I heard one man declare "So, the public schools..I hear the kids are basically not very bright, and the teachers are pretty lousy, and nobody works very hard."
I almost smacked him. I am telling you, I made a fist and I could just imagine reaching out and whacking him over the head. He was no more than three feet away. I could have done it. I could have! I am usually mild-mannered, but my buttons can be pressed. I once threw a plate at my sister for some reason that neither one of us can remember. This was a much better reason for violence, I'll bet.
After I decided not to smack him, I thought about speaking up, and announcing that I work in a public school, that I highly respect the people I work with, and they are excellent at what they do. I thought about telling him that there are plenty of smart kids in public school, and being behind has nothing to do with being smart if you don't have the money or the opportunity for a fancy education. I thought about telling him about that he would probably last about thirty seconds if he got up in front of a seventh grade classroom. I thought again about smacking him. I didn't do any of these things. I don't know why.
I looked at my boyfriend, to confirm that he had heard the same thing I had. He had not, and looked at me quizzically. I shook my head and tried not to overhear anything else. It was futile. After three minutes, my ears wandered again.
the topic had shifted. "My brother went to London," explained the man. "I told him not to do it. I told him he would hate it. I told him it would be expensive! I told him, the Euro is much stronger than the dollar these days!"
Normally, I would feel mean laughing because somebody didn't know what currency a particular nation used. This time, I felt no shame. I snickered. Joe, who was now listening in, joined me.
I rejoined my own conversation with a calmer mind now, feeling that perhaps, it was better to let sleeping brain cells lie. Of course, I couldn't help but entertain the Annie Hall fantasy as usual. Would I just happen to have a smart pulic school graduate with me? Or a teacher? Or a British two pound coin? I probably could have fished out a British coin if I'd really tried hard and scoured my coat linings. But I tried to let it be. However, the best was yet to come. As I put on my coat to leave, I overheard one last encore, or perhaps a grand finale, of ignorance. Apparently, he wanted to go out in a blaze of glory.
"I'm too nice to date girls I like and respect," he explained, earnestly to his companions, one of whom was female. "I might have to dump them, and then I would feel bad! So instead, I date girls who I don't like OR respect, and then I don't feel bad when I dump them. It works out well!"
"Happy Valentine's Day," I thought. "I hate you."
And then I left.