weaktwos

The Ladies of IT in the western regional office went out to dinner last night. In a very mundane way, it was quite amusing.

It began at 5:30pm, the appointed time we would meet. Red Lobster was the established place. Yes, that's right. Red fucking Lobster. We're idiots. The place was swamped.

Our wait was going to be one and a half hours long. Internally, each of us made a crucial calculation. Was Red Lobster's seafood extravaganza worth the wait? Even if we all stood to gain a free glass shaped like a lighthouse? For each of us, the answer was a firm, "No."

We were in danger of mauling each other for food, so we had to find another venue. Not all of our group arrived on time. We had one MIA. The four of us remaining immediately mobilized. We paired off. Brisket Company was tasked with scouting out Outback right next door. If their line was shorter, our mission was clear. Salmon Company set camp to look for our missing sister, and guard the little buzzy-lighty-pager contraption for acquiring our Red Lobster table.

Trinity and I were the scouts. We hustled out of Red Lobster's parking lot by foot. It was dangerous, as we nearly got picked off by other hungry potential Red Lobster customers spilling into the parking lot. Soon, it was but a matter of steps to the entrance of The Outback. We hustled up the stairs and warily approached the door. All seemed quiet on the outside. Well, as quiet as a restaurant on the bustling Howe Avenue could be.

I saw motion. People were in there. If I had to take out a rude customer to get his table, I would.

Suddenly, both sides of the double doors . Instead of an outpouring of waiting customers, we found two gleeful hosts greeting us and sucking us in the doorway. We were ushered to the host podium.

Summoning my voice, I asked delicately, "What is the wait for a table for five?"

The hostess replied, "None."

Bingo. I got on the horn to our compatriots.

"Salmon, this is Brisket. Come in, Salmon."
"Brisket, this is Salmon."
"Dingo says the wait is Zero. Round up the troops and depart the Warf. Rendez-vous at 18:05 hours at the Dingo's doorway. Over."
"Copy that, Brisket. Salmon out."

There was only one problem. Our 5th still had not shown. We called her on her cell phone, her home phone, but no answer. The Salmon squad was unable to locate her while waiting for us. As we were seated, my cell phone became muffled by coat, and I was unable to accept a crucial transmission that would have made our lives slightly more convenient.

It was a message from our missing sister. However, it was from a number that was not her cell phone. I promptly returned the call. After several rings, the call picked up.

"Hello, S---," I heard a click on the other end.

The call was disconnected. I called again. The same response. M from Salmon company offered to run over and find our missing sister, again. Her voicemail message indicated that she was there.

I called the number in my caller ID again. This time a male answered. I thought to myself, "What is her son doing here?"

"Yes, uhh, is Susie there?"
The male tentatively responds, "Uh, this is a payphone in Red Lobster."

Great. Minutes later M of Salmon Co. returns empty handed. Susie is nowhere to be found. Envisioning that she left us in disgust in will summon the fleas of a thousand camels upon our desk chairs come Monday, I begin to drown my sorrows in the Down Unda 'Rita that just arrived in front of me.

Finally, I get another phonecall. This time from a recognizable cell phone number. It was Susie. She found her cell phone that she had forgotten in her car. She was en route. Being of advanced years, however, life is too short to deal with this sort of crap, so she requested a glass of wine be waiting for her upon arrival. Our handsome, playful waiter was hailed and issued the vino-command.

Everything was coming together, except for the alcohol that was burning away my stomach lining and racing its way straight to my head. Taunting sounds of "lightweight!" and "cheap date!" echoed in my mind as I pondered gnawing on the menu until our soup and honeywheat bread arrived.

Dinner went off without a hitch henceforth. We survived the reconciliation of the bill without getting into fisticuffs, as everyone paid the right amount. However, there were a few tense moments that I quickly quelled. It's amazing how poor at arithmetic some people are.

Now it was time for us to make the trek back over to the Red Lobster parking lot where are chariots awaited us. Susie and I were a little on the lazy side. I'm sure she would have walked the long way around , had I not spotted what looked like a perfectly innocent shortcut between the neighboring restaurants. With the reflexes of a ninja and the good sense of a fruit fly, I scurried across the lawn seizing the shortcut opportunity. Susie followed me.

The other women called after us, but we paid them no heed. The shortcut was perfect. A pristine concrete sidewalk stretched between here and the parking lot in the rear. This would be perfect!

As we reached the other side, we came upon what looked like some silt build up and some cantaloupe sized boulders. Easy enough to navig---

As my feet approached the perceived white powdery silt, I became aware that it was more of a off-white sludge of mysterious origine. I began to slip and sink. I was flailing for a hand-hold, and trying to get the hell outta dodge at the same time.

I heard my cohort in stupidity behind me laughing, and I too was beginning to laugh at how stupid I was, as I was one false move from rolling in what seemed like a crisco buildup. I began laughing harder.

I am not sure what it is about intense laughter that sends the wrong message to the bladder. I'm sure it is related to the fact that the muscles used to laugh in the abdomen are the same muscles that keep you from becoming incontinent. In addition to laughing that I'm sloshing in sludge and trying to escape from said sludge without outwardly soiling my black jeans, a new pant-soiling enemy appeared from within. The enemy that is spontaneous bladder evacuation. The Down Unda 'Rita was about to have it's dramatic spraying debut.

Fortunately, my intense desire not to be caught in public pissing my pants saved the day.

What lessons should you walk away with, dear readers? 1) Don't go to Red Lobster on a Friday Night. 2)Don't take shortcuts at face value and 3)Go to bathroom before you leave a restaurant.