Mr. Husband has recently acquired the skill set necessary to tuck the Toddler in for the night, so I decided to throw myself a little freedom party by running to the grocery store for some very much so needed milk and veggies. (I'm wild and crazy like that.) As I zipped up and down the aisles, grabbing things left and right without a deranged Toddler nor very many deranged grown-ups to drag me down, I was thinking that I might have to make it a habit to do my grocery shopping late at night on the weekends. The local craptastic supermarket is WAY more tolerable when there's hardly anybody else there.
I changed my mind after what had to be the most confusing five minutes I've ever spent in a grocery store parking lot (considering I worked at a grocery store for a while in college, that sort of is saying something).
I'm one of those polite and not lazy people that put the cart away when they are done with it (we rock). As I was walking across the four spaces between the cart return and my car, some chick thought it would be fun to pull through the spaces in the middle of the lot and park three feet in front of me, directly between me and my car. So, I walked all the way around her car and then stopped to wait by my trunk. I don't know what I was thinking, maybe that the lady was planning to get out of her car and go in the store? Since her driver's side door was right next to my driver's side door, I guess I made the crazy assumption that we would have to take turns opening doors.
So I waited.
And I waited. I just knew that if I tried to get in my car, she would suddenly throw her door open and whack mine. She totally looked like the type that attacks stranger's cars.
Finally, she rolled down her window and asked, "Can I help you with something?"
I'm sure the look on my face was priceless at that very moment. Somehow, I managed to construct a sentence about how I was just waiting to get in my car.
"Oh, am I in your way?"
Ding! We have a winner! Of course, I didn't actually say that, I just displayed my second priceless expression of the night.
Slowly the woman fumbled with her keys, reached over to her glove compartment to fumble some more, and then finally made her way out of her car.
As she walked past me, I realized she had something in her hand. It was a little bitty can. She had it poised perfectly in her palm, with a finger on top, as if she was ready to spray something.
I can't swear to it, but I think the lady was carrying mace. You know, just in case I habitually stalk women late at night in a grocery store parking lot. I do indeed prefer women who don't know how to park, and that need five minutes to get out of their cars.
Poor, poor Brandon.
He really just even know what hit him.
Last night was the first (of many!) times that the Burgh Moms who blog managed to assemble. We are quite the diverse little group, ages ranging from 20-something to 40-something, from all parts of the city, working and stay-at-home, various levels of fear regarding Japanese Spaniards who buy amusement parks, and so on. But, we all have one thing in common (besides having kids and blogging, silly)--we all have big mouths. So when our waiter, Brandon, started the night by spilling drinks all over the place, he had nowhere to go but down.
To be fair, I personally missed the drink spilling incidents (yes, plural). In my conquest to drive through two freakin' tunnels to get there, I neglected to factor in the Succo factor. I guess some people still go to baseball games, because traffic was a beyotch and I ended up arriving ten minutes late. That was a VERY significant ten minutes because the reservation happened to be in my name and I kind of sort of in a way neglected to tell anybody that little detail. So, seven women went in the restaurant saying, "Yeah, we have a reservation, but I don't know what name it's under. Oh, and sorry, but I haven't actually met any of the other people either, and I'm not even sure I know what they look like." I don't really see a problem there, but the restaurant employees were all kinds of ticked off at me.
(Y'all who work at Rock Bottom can bite me, by the way. And Alexis--"Bite me" is Mommy's way of saying that she understands how her actions make others feel and that she's sorry. Just don't use the words yourself, please and thank you.)
So, after Brandon poured liquids all over women in hopes of being able to see through their shirts, he proceeded to deny a woman (who shall remain unnamed) her first taste of heaven in over three years. How a big 'ol restaurant could run out of daiquiri mix is beyond me, but even more mind-numbing is the fact that nobody knew how to make a daiquiri without mix. Ex-squeeze me? Yeah, I don't get it. He talked her into trying some froo-froo crap that reportedly tasted like Kool-Aid with four gallons of sugar in it. So, it was exactly like a daiquiri, but without the fun ice.
Later Brandon showed that he has no ability to remember something for more than ten minutes by giving everybody the wrong food, even as they told him to his face that it wasn't theirs. I loved the moment when Gina was all, "This isn't mine" and he was all, "Yes, it is." Think that one through next time, mmkay Brandon? He's just lucky Gina was too busy kissing her horse's behind to notice his potentially deadly sin.
I guess I should mention that the only reason I know Brandon's name is "Brandon" is because as he was walking away from delivering random food to random people, someone tried to get his attention by yelling, "HEY, YOU!" He wasn't terribly amused by that sort of name-calling, so I channeled my inner politeness and said, "We wouldn't have to call you 'you' if we knew your name."
He replied, "If you all had been listening, I introduced myself when you first got here." He threw in some extra sass at me for having missed that part because I suck.
Brandon is such a winner. A winner who fell while in the kitchen and then felt the need to tell us about it. Drinking on the job much, Brandon?
Anyway, the continuous service fiascoes really only provided further amusement to a night that was at its lowest point side-splittingly funny. Y'all, I haven't laughed that hard in ages.
The best part? We're doing it again. Hopefully you and you and you and you and you and you will be able to make it and you won't be quite so late to the ball. Keep your eyes on the other site for details, which will be headed your way before long.
And to those of you who did make it? GINA IS MINE. I saw her first, and I'm keeping her. You can't impress her by live-blogging the dinner. Playing the pity card and dropping the fact that your husband can't handle the bedtime routine won't get you anywhere either. That whole thing where you pretend in never happened does nothing. In fact, not even giving really cool stuff away will land you in her good graces. I've been reading her a while, and I just know she's going to remember who has been there for her the longest. (Right, Gina? Please?)