I have this weird obsession with tables. I’m kind of like the Goldilocks of tables; always searching for the perfect one. Sometimes, this tendency is elevated by the amount of alcohol consumed. Sometimes.
Size, albeit not everything, is a big factor in choosing a table. For instance, a table that is too large for the situation just doesn’t work, like if there’s only a few people or if the venue is particularly loud. And tables that are too small are just annoying, like when there’s a lot of people and a lot of items (like food, drinks, centerpieces and such). Although intimate, it’s really just asking for things to get knocked over. And nobody wants that.
Basically, I just want to be comfortable and that generally means being in control of the table. As well as my surroundings. But mostly the table. I don’t need any table thinking it can get the upper hand on me. Nothing good can come from a table like that.
With all that said, the table-choosing criterion that has gotten me in the most trouble would have to be the chair-to-table distance. Too close and I feel like I’m being suffocated, too far and I don’t have anything to lean on when I grow weary of supporting my own body weight. Sometimes, this ‘weariness’ is elevated by the amount of alcohol consumed. Sometimes.
Like this one time
at band camp…
A friend of mine agreed to go to a concert with me. To compensate him for the good deed we hit a restaurant, ate some food (probably), drank some beer and then went to the concert. The opening band sucked. At least that’s what I tell myself, because the pre beer-drinking bonanza kinda got away on us and we missed the first act entirely. Ooops.
I picked up the bill at the restaurant, so my friend decided to compensate me by buying us beer at the concert. So he comes back. With one beer.
Turns out, the beer was pretty costly, $7.50 for a plastic cup of Molson. Yick. I already had a good buzz on, so in the end, it didn’t really matter. But anyway, he came back with only one because he didn’t have enough money to buy a beer for himself and a t-shirt for me. So I shared my beer with him. I kept the t-shirt.
Since we were at a rock concert and everything, I decided that it would be appropriate to light a lighter, only I didn’t have one. Sometimes when I’m disappointed, I complain loudly. And sometimes, this tendency (and the volume of the complaint) is elevated by the amount of alcohol consumed. Sometimes.
Luckily, my friend had one, and as it turns out, it wasn’t just a regular old lighter. It was a camping lighter that works during wind and rain storms. Fancy! He handed me the lighter. I promptly dropped it. And lost it. Oh man, I’m so sorry, I’ll totally buy you a new one. Five years later, I still haven’t replaced it. Ooops again!
After the concert, I decided we should find a place to have a couple more drinks. As we looked for a bar, we stumbled upon this guy playing bagpipes in full Highland regalia. I promptly emptied my wallet of anything resembling coins and proceeded to do the Irish Jig.
I knew that he was Scottish, but that didn’t really matter. After we left the ‘second concert’, I noticed that I gave away my busfare. Not so much as noticed, more like it occurred to me that since I gave him all of my coins, I had no coins left for the bus. Dammit. Still on the mission to locate alcohol:
Me: So where do you think a bar is?
Friend: I dunno, I’m just kind of walking.
Right then, we saw a sign that read “Bar” and had an arrow pointing at a door. So meant to be – this is going to be great! We go in and we get seated at this table; actually it was a booth, which normally I love, but…
This table was far too large: it was just the two of us and the venue was loud. I immediately decided that this was completely unacceptable, (recall the previous comment about complainly loudly). My friend kindly asked the waitress if we could move. “Absolutely, pick any table you want”. Success! Victory is mine!
I chose a table that was the perfect size and had moveable chairs. But my chair was far too close to the table and I felt like I was being suffocated.
In an attempt to remedy this situation, I began trying to move my chair away from the table. But, the whole thing kinda got away on me. As my friend sat down, I kicked the table with so much force, it knocked over his entire beer. Directly into his lap.
I apologized profusely while the waitress mopped up my mess. I offered to let him dump my beer on me, but he wouldn’t have it. The waitress said that he should do it. Outside. Then again, she was cleaning up an entire beer off the floor. Well, to be fair, just the amount that didn’t absorb into my friends’ pants. And yes, it did look like he wet himself.
After we finished the pitcher (well, minus one pint), I decided I had been enough of a pain in the ass for one night, and that we should go home. He offered to ride the skytrain with me to my stop. When we got to my station, he walked me to the bus stop. I grew suspicious:
Me: “Shouldn’t you be getting back on the train?”
Friend: “Ummmm, yeah… I was wondering… can I sleep on your couch?”
Me: “What? Why?”
Friend: “Well, because my last bus was like an hour ago and I have no way of getting home”
Me: “What!?! Why didn’t you tell me?!”
Friend: “Because you were having so much fun, I didn’t want to spoil it.”
Seriously, that’s actually what he said, so I pretty much had to agree. To do otherwise would be cruel. No, you’re not allowed to sleep on my couch, now go off into the streets, sleep on a bus bench and don’t forget to expose your wet spot for the world to see!
The next morning I woke up feeling a little under the weather. My friend, however, looked like someone who had been to hell and back and was probably going to vomit because the trip was just so damn agonizing. I tried to make light of the situation:
Me: “Sorry you’re sick, but at least your pants are dry!”.
Friend: “Ummm, yeah… not quite”.
Big thanks to “EliseArt” for providing the illustrations.