In the immortal words of Miss Christine Lavin, "What Was I Thinking?"
I really wanted a substantial meal tonight on my "lunch" break, and had my heart set on the enormous plate of cod and chips at the nearby Irish place, whose name sounds like you are clearing your throat of a year's worth of mucous. I was planning on sitting at the bar, real quick, in and out. MyAdoringPublic had even gone there with her as yet un-nicknamed Beau (not to be confused with my Beauregard Van Horne - what a scandal THAT would be!), and they were leaving as I was arriving, off to see Harry Potter.
Hello. It's Saturday night in a mecca of capitalism. The place was a madhouse.
I found the single seat left at the bar. In a mostly timely fashion a waitress found me, took my order, let me pay in advance, and all seemed well. My food even arrived in fifteen minutes. This is going well, right?
Then, the idiot drunk guy next to me, leans over, and I swear, puts his face about 6 inches from my food..."Um, looks good! What is it?" Like he's never seen fish or chips before.
I kinda wanted to poke his eye out with my fork.
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