|I still found time to do |
some Christmas shopping...
Some of that should clear up after December, as the holidays and some of my new company’s initial growing pains all mercifully fade away. In the meanwhile, I’ll try to get more tales of drunken enchantment submitted for your viewing pleasure. Such as…
This past Saturday Tony convinced me to put away work and instead drink myself charming in the many bars that dot my neighborhood. After hitting a couple of them, we ended up back at Shady Grove, where the last shots and beers of the night finally polished the shine on my inebriation.
There are few people of true genius in this world, but one such immortal walks among us here in Pittsburgh. He realized that, for all of the money and bars that the Shadyside has, what it doesn’t have are lots of places to eat after last call. And so this modern-day Rockefeller did what makes sense: He got a permit to set up a hot dog stand on the main drag every Saturday night. Now, when you spill out of a nearby bar, the smell of fresh hot dogs and kielbasa tickle your nose like a prom date in a limo.
Tony and I quickly found spots in line, and I placed an order for two hot dogs. Or two kielbasa. …One of each? Within two seconds of telling the guy what I wanted, I had completely forgotten what I had requested of him. Here’s the problem: So did he.
Now, I make no excuses for myself. I’m an idiot most of the time, and when my BAC rises my IQ doesn’t exactly come along for the ride. But I’m not supposed to be the one with the good memory here. I’m a drunken customer, and in such I am the exact demographic fueling this guy’s business. He’s sober, and makes his money dealing with drunks; which one of us would YOU count on to remember an order?
Hot Dog Guy: “What was your order again, man?”
Me: “I don’t know.”
Hot Dog Guy: “You don’t remember it?”
Me: *annoyed* “Pftt no! I’m drunk, buddy!”
Hot Dog Guy: “Well how about a [some chintzy variation on a chili dog]?” *hands me hot dog*
Me: *passes hot dog to Tony*
Hot Dog Guy: “What about for you?”
Hot Dog Guy: *rattles off names of other hot dogs on his menu*
Me: “Whatever man.” *walks off*
Let’s not forget that I was the one who had paid for the food. I was so irritated by the guy forgetting my order that I essentially gave him a 100% tip for the hot dog that Tony ate. I overpaid and didn’t eat, just to make my point.
And maybe one of these days I’ll figure out just what that point was.