All I Wanted Was My Margarita...

The one thing that I was looking forward to all week, was a good meal and a good margarita to go along with it. I had it all planned out. I knew the restaurant I wanted to go to, had the item off the menu selected, and my strawberry margarita.

So there it was Saturday morning and I've got to get ready to go to work. It was hot, muggy, and I felt gross, it didn't matter that I had just gotten out of the shower. I don't usually work on Saturday's so it didn't bother me much. All I hoped was that I didn't have to do a lot of running around like I did the day before - that sucked and I was smelly when it was all over with.
Luckily, the day went by quick. I helped out a group of new pharmacy students by configuring their new laptops and offered some tips and tricks to get them ready for their first day of school. I was dealing with a group of nervous girls, who were already stressed about the first day of school because of the harder curriculum they'll have this year. They seemed to be uneasy with the new laptop and wanted to make sure that they "dont break it" when using it for school - they had tons of questions to say the least. It was cute. I felt sympathy for them and I'm glad that I wasnt going to school to be a pharmacist. By the time I was done with them and looked up at the clock it was noon. Yes! almost time to get ready for dinner and have that ice cold, sweet, tangy mouthwatering margarita.

But, I had to do one more thing before I left for the day - get the guys lunch. They were going mental. A sure tell is when they start talking about different kinds of foods they like, have ate, and then start acting like 2 year olds who've missed their nap. So I did the usual, took down their orders and left to go get it. I hurried to my truck and I planned to make it back and forth in 20 minutes. So that I can make it out of work by 1pm and run the rest of my personal errands: clean house, correct some extra credit homework, then get ready. When I got to the truck and turned the key, the "orange light of death" went on. I was extremely low on gas. If you know me and are reading this, you know I push my gas levels to the limits. I thought "fuck it" and headed straight to the food, I'm running on fumes at this point. It was hot and I couldn't run the ac, because it would use whatever gas I had left in the tank. I felt like a Grade A dumbass for always and I mean always pulling shit like that. I shrugged it off and the thought of having that margarita sounded really good at that moment. I needed something ice cold because it was hell-like outside. I finally got the food. Now I needed to go and get gas.

The truck was toying with my emotions, it seemed like on purpose. But the heat and stress were effecting my brain. When pushing on the gas the pressure on the peddle would release or the truck would pull then stop like it was going to stop. I was panicking and my heart palpitations were in full swing. The gas station was close by. If the truck had run out of gas and it finally stopped. I was confident that I'd be able to push it into the gas station. I was determined to get back in 20 minutes, and mind over matter does wonders. Especially when there's a margarita waiting for you in a few hours. I made it! I've reached a new limit with the truck. Will I ever go that far again - NO. Well maybe. I finished filling up my tank, then headed back with food and all to feed the hungry bunch. Finally made it into the building, ahhh the ac...I needed it. I was sweating in places I didnt know I could sweat - I felt gross. I needed a shower but I still had my errands to run after work was over.

I left work, ran my errands, did the chores, got ready and headed out to the restaurant - Elephant Bar. We got there and I was all smiles, only a matter of minutes before me and my margarita meet at last.queue the song by etta james

We were seated almost immediately and things couldn't have gone smoother. Our server was a young, chipper fellow, who greeted us then took our orders. When he got to me I was ready. I asked for my hand-breaded fried shrimp (im classy i know), and a margarita. He says: "Can I see your ID?" I thought oh gosh he's really trying hard for that tip. I'm well over 21 and he knows it. So I reached into my pocket it wasn't there, looked around for my purse and remembered that I didn't bring it. I looked to him and saw that he needed it and he wasn't going to budge. SHIT!! This can't be! I'm here with my husband, and two kids, do I really look like I need to be carded?? I looked across at another table and saw an older couple and I asked the server if they were carded?!? He laughed but I wasn't joking. I meant business. Do I need to bust out my saggy boobs and stretch marks to prove to him otherwise. All I want is my margarita man...ahhhhhh! He proceeded to stay calm and asked what I'd like to drink instead. INSTEAD! I haven't thought of it, all I wanted was that margarita - I was losing it.

So after my tantrum I said: "fine, give me a coke." and I gave him the bitchiest of bitchy looks I've ever given anyone. This chipper fellow was on my shit list and it was my mission to give him hell for the remainder of the time that I was there. Whenever he stopped by and asked, "how are things?" I'd say, "They'd be better with a margarita!!" I was embarassing my family, but I didn't give a shit. He had the nerve to come back and then ask, "is there anything else that you guys need?" This guy clearly was getting a kick out of my bitchiness or had a death wish, either way I replied, "get me a margarita." He ignored me and didn't stare in my direction. Sort of like when your mom tells you not to stare at wierdos. Still I didn't care. He came by one last time and asked "So is everything fantastic." and yes I said "it could've been better," paused "with a margarita!" as he was walking away..ahhh I'm so classy.

In the end I didnt get my margarita but I got my shits and giggles. I wish I knew that punks name so I could put him on blast right here, right now. So here's a tip to anyone who may be a server - if someone who looks clearly their age, with children, and in need of a margarita, just give her the damn margarita.

The end.
~G

Now off to raging waters to give someone else hell.