Hwango disdains the lemon

[hwango]

On Friday, I went with kaiwoklaw to Vinny T's of Boston (which is a stupid name, since it's not in Boston) for the farewell gathering held in honor of two of her (former) coworkers. I met many people who had heard of me but never met me, and nearly everyone said that they were starting to think that I wasn't real. One person even suggested that maybe I wasn't really myself at all, but merely someone kaiwoklaw had paid to pretend to be me. I informed them that you couldn't pay anyone enough to pretend to be me.

After we were seated, I quietly asked kaiwoklaw to tell me who everyone was - not names, which I would quickly forget, but instead what roll they fill in society. In this way I was able to learn which people were current coworkers, which were former coworkers, and which were SO's of one of the other two types. When two new people arrived I asked who they were, and was informed that they were Adam (departed/ing coworker) and Bruce's Wife. I asked why Adam was attending dinner with Bruce's Wife, since this seemed like a grievous social faux pas, but it was clarified for me that Bruce and Bruce's Wife had just given Adam a ride to the restaurant, and Bruce was probably outside parking the car.

When the time came to order, I searched the menu for something relatively uncomplicated from which I could cut the minimum number of ingredients in order to make it edible for me. I had my choice of four chicken dishes, three of which featured lemon dressing or sauce, and one of which had wine built into it. I decided on one of the lemony ones, but I asked our waiter to have the kitchen not include the lemon dressing in my order, since I was not partial to lemon. I had already been served a glass of water with a lemon floating in it, which I removed with my salad fork and placed in kaiwoklaw's water glass to play with her lemon.

When food arrived it was brought by some waitresses who had no idea who ordered what, so they just called out the name of the dish and watched for who waved that it was theirs. Alas, I hadn't thought to memorize the Italian name for my meal, and listened for anything chickeny that didn't sound too complex. Eventually, a somewhat familiar chicken dish was named, and I offered up that it might be mine. Looking at it, it didn't seem to have any dressing on it, but I didn't want someone else's meal, nor did they want to give me someone else's meal. However, checking the table we discovered that everyone else had food, so it was deemed mine by process of elimination. I noted that the lemon dressing was absent, but that I had a wedge of lemon on my plate anyway. They seemed determined to give me lemons somehow.

Towards the end of the meal, people were either more inebriated or cared less about the possibility of being thrown out since they'd already eaten, (or both) and began to construct a truly inspiring tower in the center of our table. Two martini glasses stacked top to top, with a water glass on top of that, followed by a cardboard standup thing advertising takeout service with two forks balanced on top of each other inside it and two more forks jammed teeth to teeth balanced over it, with sugar packets slid into the tines, crowned by a drinking straw with the end slitted to fit over one over one of the packets so it would stand straight up with a piece of garnish or seasoning stuck into the other end. The whole creation was probably a couple of feet tall by the end. Our waiter was suitably impressed, and seemed genuinely amused...though of course he couldn't exactly say anything against it unless he wanted to risk souring the moods of people who would be tipping him in a few minutes. He did volunteer his lighter to let us set the top bit aflame, though, so he seemed to be getting into the proper spirit of things. Alas, the plant matter wouldn't actually produce a flame, just scorch slightly and smell somewhat foul. It's the thought that counts, though.

As they were clearing away dishes I asked them to wrap up my broccoli and potati, so kaiwoklaw could have them later if she wanted them. We discovered the following day that they were packed up with the lemon wedge included. The lemons...they haunt me.

As everyone dispersed, I nearly proclaimed to those assembled that tomorrow they could dismiss this as nothing but a dream, and that I was going back to the Land of Imaginary Things, but I didn't feel like making myself the center of attention and decided not to. Oh well. Best not to dwell on what might have been, and get back to important things. I should really go feed the unicorns and bring the Loch Ness monster its morning paper.

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[hwango.livejournal.com]

Mmm...hijinks.