Miss Gibson, upon reading the initial trivia team narrative, asks the question, "Why did you shout at the waiter and not Jonathan? Wasn't he the (very unfunny) prankster?"
My reply:
Good question. And therein lies the rest of the story.
My yelling at the waiter consisted of me telling him rather angrily that I didn't want the damn drink, to stop offering me that fucking drink, that I didn't want it, that I didn't want him lying to me, that I knew who sent me the drink (which is when I kept pointing out Jonathan and calling him "that skinny, blond bastard over there"), that I didn't think it was funny and that I wasn't in the mood.
The people at my table were both staring at the scene and trying not to look directly at me, as though I were Medusa and capable of turning men to stone.
Debi, of course understanding what we'd just been talking about, seemed to shrink away from the whole thing.
Meanwhile, Jonathan kept smiling and telling me not to get mad, that he was just trying to have another ugly man buy me a scotch - like it happens at Burkhart's.
"Honey, are you OK?" the waiter finally asked me.
"No," I said. "Go away."
"OK," the waiter said, then he turned to Jonathan and asked who was going to take care of the drink.
The waiter, who was nice and was just doing what he was told - even if he knew it was a prank and should realize the way that pranks will be received, later accepted numerous apologies from me and a $9 tip on my $20 check.
("Nick, you're a waiter," I asked Nick the Cute Waiter, sitting next to me. "Does this tip say 'Sorry for going apeshit'?")
The waiter at one point advised me to next time direct my anger at the person I was mad at, not at the messenger.
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