Bring me another bagamagamfp...yeah

Okay, so we all like to get intoxicated from time to time. I've certainly had my fair share of drunken nights out and there have been those nights that were dragged out just a little longer than they should have been. Mind you, these nights usually are spent at bars or clubs, or at my friends' apartments, where it is perfectly acceptable to drink until I truly believe I can speak another language and also think that it is okay to shout everything and make outrageous demands. I typically do not drink to the point of severe intoxication and then head out for a bite to eat at a restaurant. Sports fans love to do this. I do not mean to be ignorant and stereotype all sports fans, but many of them love to get all jazzed up in their team's signature colors, consume roughly fifty two beers, and when the game is over head out to one of their favorite night spots for a bite to eat and a game of harrass the waiter. Tonight the restaurant was a sea of yellow as the Iowa fans swept through in a barbecue consuming frenzy. The majority of these fans were very nice people, commenting that we need to open a location near them and that our homemade sangria is, "super!" Yes, thank you, it is, and hopefully one day we will open a location near you so that you might enjoy steaks and ribs to your heart's content. But there always has to be that last table - they somehow know they are your last table of the night and they are hell bent on behaving in such an absurd manner that no matter how well your evening has gone you will leave the restaurant furious do to their antics.

This special table consisted of three middle aged guys dressed to the nines in their bright yellow Iowa hoopty do . I approached the table already angry, as they were sat ten minutes after the patio closed, but reminded myself to be friendly as this was not their fault. I began my obnoxiously long corporate greet only to be interrupted by this request - "Bring usss shome hash browns with cheeses and yeah, um, yeah and some mrmphgrm." "Sorry guys," I replied, "we don't have any hash browns." "What, then just bring out some potatoes you know, and, uh, the cheese with the onions and the stuff." I hide my disgust behind a wildly artificial smile and begin determining each individual's level of drunkeness. I make sure to make each of them repeat back their order to me and ask them some random questions about temperatures and the like, trying to make them talk as much as possible. The guy in seat one it turns out is only mildly intoxicated and just rude. The guy in seat two is also mildly intoxicated and apparantly determined to get hash browns and he repeatedly asks for them. I finally tell him that I'm going to bring him some hash smothered and covered in the hopes that he will think he is in a Waffle House and calm down. The guy in seat three speaks complete gibberish to me but manages to perfectly state, "I'd like the bud lite bottle and not draft," so I figure I'll reward him with one beer before I cut him off. Before sending in their drink order (3 beers) I also find out that they are staying in a nearby hotel and are not driving a car tonight. We are good to go with one round of drinks!

When I return with the beers they begin grilling me on my sports knowledge. Those of you who know me will see the humor in this line of questioning. I don't even know what team from Iowa they are rooting for, much less the sport they play. This is tricky you see. These guys are drunk and hopped up on testosterone and the thrill of boozing and clubbing in the big city. They want their waiter to be a dude who can shoot the shit and crack a dirty joke or tell them his favorite football play of all time and why. I vaguely mumble something like, "Yeah, what's his name can't throw for shit. Maybe if he had an arm they might have stood a chance tonight," and cringe while waiting for the response. "Damn straight!" "Isn't that the truth?!" THANK YOU JESUS! I can't believe my bullshit actually worked and these guys believed me. I am now grateful that they consumed those fifty two beers before coming in. They ask for another round and I tell them about the bars up the street, suggesting they would probably enjoy a beer there. Thankfully they understand the unspoken message that their drunk asses need to go and they give up on the beers. After a few more requests for items we don't carry and some more unintelligable mumbling I bring them a check and tell that that do to a city ordinance they must vacate the patio after 11:00 pm (thank you random city laws!). They pay, ask for my reccomendations on where to, "let it all out," and stumble toward the exit. I think of the poor cocktail waitress they are headed for and laugh to myself, imagining them "letting it all out," at the next place.