So last night D and I ate at our little Mexican place near home, El Arroyo. The outdoor patio is enclosed in the winter with (mild) heating, so I got the last table out there. Unfortunately, they had "live music" (which was this 23-year-old who hadn't washed his hair in a little too long) and we were next to the speaker. Even worse, it was like being trapped in Edge Hell. (The Edge is our local suckass "rock" station that just plays Nickelback and the other eight bands that want to be Nickelback). This dude could barely sing--he fucked up a Green Day song. I mean, I like Green Day, but A) it was Time of Your Life (ugh) and B) how do you fuck up a Green Day song? I'm here to tell you, yes, it can be done!
Worse still, it's a fairly small patio and one fucking moron kept insistently whistling, a delightfully piercing sound. And there were several drunk people who kept singing out loud or madly applauding at the end of each trainwreck. The table behind us was a key example. Two middle-aged women, one of whom was not dressed age-appropriately, shall we say, and her biker boyfriend. The second woman, who was the elder, apparently was really pounding her booze. But we'll get back to that.
The waiter left us with our appetizer for over twenty minutes. I think D's exact words were, "If you finish that margarita before he checks on us, we're just flat out leaving." But the evening had a predictable (if secretly funny) finish.
The world's worst musician finally finished torturing us and people paid their bills. I was facing the table with the boozy lady, whose two friends were frantically fanning her and telling her she couldn't lie down (she didn't try, at least). This went on for quite a while, and as she stood up, D was prepared to leap out of the way, lest any projectile vomiting go astray. She kept it together, however, and we're pretty hopeful the other woman was doing the driving. The biker man stayed at the table for an additional twenty minutes or so, and finally left. I don't know what he would have said or done had the waiter started to clear the table, but again, we'll get back to that.
Well, we're finishing up ourselves and speaking now that we can actually hear each other, when the waiter comes over and starts to clear their table. He makes a loud gawp of shock and disgust as he attempts to pick up what must have been a vomit-filled napkin. Luckily, I did not laugh. Well, not til he went away to get tools with which to dispose of it.
Seriously, couldn't someone have tossed it in the loo trash? Or at least made discreet mention to watch out for the third napkin on the left? Something? As I found our waiter less than endearing I can't say I felt too badly for him, but it was still fairly atrocious. Nearly as bad as the set we'd endured.
Luckily, my bacon-wrapped jalapeno-filled shrimps were still delightful. I think of that bacon video every time I order them now...oh hell, I'll just post it here!