So I was at the Friday's tonight, trying to eat some ribs. First off, these ribs were dry and tough. They were "saw off the bone" tender. Plus, they had a severe curve, so I got sauce on my cheeks. This little piggie had scoliosis.
I decided I could turn the dinner around if I had a key lime martini. (My taste in cocktails is the same as you would expect of a high-school student, since I only began drinking liquor about three years ago.)
I asked the waiter, Ricky -- I swear, as in, "My name is Ricky AND I'LL BE TAKING CARE OF YOU TONIGHT" -- I asked Ricky if I might have a Key Lime Martini.
"Certainly. And I see you are over eighteen. You don't look a day over thirty-five. But may I see some identification?"
"That is utter crap, Ricky."
It was difficult fishing my driver's license out of my purse with my eyes rolled back in my head as if I was having a SEIZURE but I found it, and I slapped it down in front of Ricky.
I also said if he was shilling for a tip that no forty-four year old would buy his game. I mean really, why not just say, "We are required to ask everyone for I.D." instead of such idiocy?