Teppanyaki terror

I'm told that we'll be dining at a teppanyaki restaurant tonight in Kevin Federline's hometown. It's a work trip, so I'll of course be on my best behavior, but I haven't been to a teppanyaki restaurant since the Great Benihana Incident, circa 1985.

My parents and their friends decided our families should spend a lovely evening at a local Benihana so my parents packed us panda cubs up and we drove to the fine dining establishment. The eleven of us seated around the iron grill, our be-hatted chef began to prepare our meal.

It seems that these chefs often put on a "show" for their dining guests. A "show" that consists of lightning-speed chopping, vegetable juggling and general buffoonery. Apparently, the "show" also includes picking on a hapless diner - hopefully someone with a sense of humor.

Well, as a cub, Panda!!!! did not like to be picked on. It may have been those horrible playground experiences or perhaps a general aversion to people, but whatever the reason, I was a terribly sensitive child. Our chef made the mistake of singling me out as the butt of his jokes.

When it was time to serve shrimp, he threw the tails on my plate. When I reached for my drink, he abruptly pulled it out of arm's reach. When it was time to eat, my plate remained empty and he pretended not to notice me.

Finally, I had had enough. With tears streaming down my face, I threw my glass of water onto his grill, thereby sending a huge cloud of steam up in his face, and I ran out of the restaurant and to my parents' car, which had an electronic combination entry on the driver-side door. I leaped into the car and refused to come out. My parents tried to get into the car, but my little fingers were too quick and I would lock the doors before they could pry them open.

My parents pleaded and pleaded, but I refused to come out. I was hysterically crying and I didn't care that I was making a scene in the Benihana parking lot.

After approximately ten minutes of insisting that my family leave me alone and eat without me, they did. And they returned to the table. After approximately ten more minutes of boredom, I returned to the table and solemnly took my seat.

Throughout the rest of the meal, I sat silently at my seat and picked at my meal. My parents told me to apologize, but I just rolled my eyes. (I, of course, was not to blame.) I glared at the evil chef and refused to acknowledge his attempts at getting back into my good graces.

I haven't been to a teppanyaki restaurant since, but I'm hoping that these past two decades will have toughened me up a bit in case I am put in the position of being the butt of our chef's jokes tonight!