Friday Whopsies part 2

I met the Diane at “Mexican Radio”: she was sitting at the bar reading _The Lord of the Rings_ and had started the first of her Margaritas. The bar sits on the left hand side of the restaurant, behind it a tall indie rocker bartender with tattoos was gently cleansing beer glasses. Being Friday the bar was packed with people, in various stages of their evenings, all talking in a register slightly too loud for general conversation.

A frothy one

*And so it began.*

Little Mexican advark light statue

We spent a good amount of time there, laughing in the glow of tequila and blended fruit juices. We drank and drank ignoring our inner voices which desperately asked for nourishment other than in that found in liquor. Diane’s boss, who was also at the restaurant came by and bought us a round that pushed our bodies over the edge. 4 beers and 2 margaritas later the two of us, wrapped in oversized puffy jackets, spilled out onto Cleveland Place holding onto each-other for support and warmth and quickly made for a small Italian restaurant on the west side called Little Frankies.

_DISCLAIMER: I was a little buzzed and Diane was a little buzzed, but the events that followed are represented here to the fullest of my recollection._

We walked in off the street. large groups of people outside were waiting for tables and the place was pretty crowded. We waited to be helped… No help came… We waited a little longer… I was hungry and there was no host to be seen to give as much as our name to. I went into the restaurant and asked one of the waiters “is there some sort of list I might be able to put my name on?” Yeah he replied and asked another waiter where JESS was. The other waiter being surprised by the question immediately said “I don’t know, maybe outside or something’.” I walked dejectedly back to Diane, still no further along in my quest for even so much as a _garlic knot._

A woman in red, who I assumed was the mysterious host came out of the back-room and sauntered towards us stopping mid-stride to turn back to the kitchen to bum a cigarette off the busboy. By now another couple had walked into the restaurant and was waiting next to us. We both waited for service^1^. She came back to the front of the restaurant and this scene ensued.

bq. WAITRESS “This way please.”
the waitress gestures to the couple.
DIANE “Excuse me. Unless I am mistaken, we were here before this couple.”
MAN “Oh, we were here before and were waiting outside.”
WOMAN “Yeah we were outside.”
DIANE “Okay, I didn’t know about that.”
WAITRESS “You are very mistaken.”
DIANE “FLIP this noise, I am leaving little missy.”

And so out into the rough streets of manhattan we were thrust again. Diane was at this point pissed and would have, if the opportunity presented itself, kicked the waitresses ass old time Italian style. We were at this point hungry and dejected. We struggled to come up with a secondary plan, but our minds had affixed themselves around fried calamari, as they sometimes do.

*But where, we asked ourselves, where?*

^1^ By *SERVICE* I mean the type of work done for others as an occupation or business.