NOW SERVING PIZZA AND DAIQUIRIS the chalk sign in front of the bar advertises.
Loudly and with heavy enthusiasm you declare, “I shall make my home in this place!”
You manage to have a seat at the bar after only tripping on a record two stools and signal the bartender.
A buxom young woman of no more than twenty-three, she smiles warmly as she makes her way toward you from the other end of the bar.
“What can I get you, hon?” she asks sweetly.
“I saw your sign outside,” you shout loudly in a nearly empty bar with no music currently playing.
Somewhat shocked by the volume of your voice and not hearing an answer to her question, the bartender responds simply “Okay?”
“So I guess we’re roommates now. I never want to be anywhere else. Also I will take one pizza daiquiri.”
“Oh, baby, it’s pizza and daiquiris, not pizza daiquiris.”
The bartender, being a bartender, has seen her share of vacant stares. She will later describe the stare you give her as dilapidated. Not wishing to press the issue with such an obviously dangerous man, she pours you an Attitude Adjustment and throws a slot of pepperoni pizza right in the cup as a “garnish.”
You remark that the drive-through daiquiri shop has better pizza daiquiris and you do not tip.