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Wednesday, December 06, 2006

on the house

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.
"oh no, that's an onion. our kitchen is clean."

its legs hung limply, soggily from being steamed.

my appetite departed.

"no, this is a cockroach. onions are white."

"that is a fried onion. they become brown when fried," the owner argued.

i've found many, many things in restaurant food. and unless it's a pube, i'll generally remove it and continue eating. i'm not prissy. and i understand that due to the random workings of the globe, the odd thing is bound to make its way into my soup.

but i pushed the bowl with the cockroach/onion away from me.

"when we go out, we like to have a refined experience," said the girlfriend of an acquaintance.

my boyfriend and i looked at each other. "well, have we got a story for you..."

there's a portuguese restaurant in montreal that you go to for the meat: lamb chops, pork chops, steaks with eggs fried on them. meat.

it's delicious. which is why you tolerate the rude waiters and the 30-minute wait for your reserved table. on our last visit there, my boyfriend and i sidled up to the bar to make the best of the long wait.

we sat next to a portuguese man and woman. they weren't a couple - she was in her mid 30s with a baseball cap, and he in his late 50s. they looked as though they had done some hard living. and here they were, drinking cheap red wine.

a raucous conversation took place between this man and woman. it took place in portuguese, so we didn't understand. but it looked like she was egging him on.

seems like she's challenging him... i whispered to my boyfriend.

and then a carafe of wine was placed in front of him. an entire liter of red wine. chances were pretty high that it was homemade.

he grabbed it by the neck.

oh gawd... i thought.

he lifted the carafe and commenced drinking.

"he's going to barf," i said to my boyfriend. i looked around in an attempt to move, but the place was packed.

i grabbed my boyfriend's arm. "he's going to BARF!" my voice had become shrill.

the woman in the baseball cap cheered him on. no one else did. no one else seemed to notice.

he was halfway through the liter of wine. my mind flooded with memories of horrible things that happen when cheap red wine is consumed: my friend knocked out her front teeth on a bus due to red wine. she also had to graft skin from her ass onto her leg due to a red wine/tobogganing incident. but, of course, we were 16. this man was 59.

"this guy's gonna vomit." said my boyfriend.

the man slammed the empty liter of wine on the bar. he was swaying.

the woman with the baseball cap forked over $20 to the man. she then ordered 2 beers.

i shook my head.

when my boyfriend and i decided to turn our attention back to each other, i noticed that the man had placed his hand over his mouth.

"oh SHIT!" i jumped off my barstool and grabbed pulled my boyfriend's arm, trying to drag him away.

the force of the hand over his mouth increased the pressure of the already projectile vomit. he barfed all over himself, the bar, and my boyfriend's arm.

"jee-SUS!" my boyfriend exclaimed. i looked at the frothy red wine vomit on his arm. i hate vomit. it makes me want to vomit.

i pointed to the bathroom. "WASH YOUR ARM! GO WASH YOUR ARM!"

my boyfriend accepted the towel from the unapologetic bartender, hopped off the stool, and strode to the bathroom.

the old man stood up and slowly made his way to the front door. she left three minutes later, once she finished her beer.

everything had been cleaned up by the time my boyfriend returned.

"you okay?" i asked.

"yeah, yeah. it was just wine."

"mm. wine and bile. there were bubbles."

"no bubbles krista. just wine. it was only in his stomach for a minute."

"bile resides in our stomach."

"whatever. are we staying?"

"you're the one who just got vomited on. are you okay to stay?"

"yeah, it's fine. i feel sorry for the guy. where'd he go?"

the bartender informed us that the drinks we had ordered were on the house.

"wow," i said, picking up my glass and making my way to our table.

"i think i'll have the steak," said my boyfriend.


At December 07, 2006, Blogger Kell said...

There's nothing like the healing power of drinks on the house!

At December 08, 2006, Anonymous Anonymous said...

I once sat beside a mom and her autistic son on a domestic flight. The boy was disturbed by the experience of flying, and flailed, to the extent of grabbing my shirt and hitting my arm. I felt sorry for both of them. Then I started to feel sorry for me. The flight attendant gave me drinks on the house.


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