According to Big Chris, "We'll meet weirder people at the Outhouse."
We had a 30 minute wait for our table (I couldn't believe it either) so we sat at the bar and watched the closing ceremonies of the Olympics. Not long after sitting down, I observed 2 gentlemen walking in, one of whom was in overalls and the other was in an American flag do-rag. Both had incredibly think New York accents and both sat dawn closest to me and both ordered a whiskey sour.
"My good man!" Do-Rag exclaimed. "We would like two of your finest whiskey sours with a slice of orange and..."
"We don't have oranges."
(Horrified silence.) "Alright then. Extra cherries."
2 hastily made whiskey sours were slammed on the bar.
"How about giving me and my friend some moah cherries?"
Doing all he could to stifle an eyeroll, because obviously he would be killed, the bartender dumped dozens of cherries in their drinks.
"There we are! There we are!"
Brock and I were kicking each other under the bar as Brock kept whispering, "This is the most exciting night of my life."
Big Chris, I shouldn't have to point out, was oblivious.
I couldn't help it. I looked over and smiled.
"Boy, you sure are pretty." Overalls said. He looked at Do-Rag. "Ain't she pretty?"
"She shoah is." Do-Rag said, refusing to look at me.
"Oh, golly. Thank you." I blushed, suddenly finding them wise, interesting and complex creatures brimming with sensitive masculinity.
Overalls continued, giggling. "You're making this drink taste bettah. Boy oh boy."
I thought Brock was going to fall of his bar stool. "Well, thank you. That's very sweet. You've made my night!"
Then it got a little awkward, with all of us sitting at the bar, everyone staring straight ahead.
And it just got more bizarre from there. Brock captured this photo, which he calls, "Chris speaks to Beth" and I may have thrown a baby back rib across the restaurant. We heard three (3) couples get into fights and someone (me) screamed, "This might be the french press coffee talking but you can both go fuck yourselves!"
An agitated Brock kept asking, "What do the boomerangs represent?" and Big Chris actually ordered off the menu because his cousin heard about this thing one can ask for and...I lost interest.
It all looked disgusting.
We were punchy, naughty, sassy. I warned our server he might be in for a rough table as Big Chris announced, "I apologize for my friend, here. She's a goddamn idiot."
Fine, you guys. Fine. I suspect my company might be much more appreciated with the gentlemen in the overalls and do-rag anyway...