The Saint and I had a truly excellent weekend. We went to dinner, we saw a movie (Juno, loved it.), we did some shopping, we went to lunch, we saw another movie (Charlie Wilson’s War, also very good), we met friends for dinner, and just generally relaxed.
The weather was frigid, still is, so there was a lot of dropping this princess off at various doors so she wouldn’t freeze to death walking from point A to point B. We had lunch on Saturday at this quasi Italian place. (What? It was close to the movie theater.) I was seated while the Saint was parking and the earnest young server brought water and asked if I’d like a drink. The conversation went something like this:
Me: “I’ll have a Campari Soda.”
Server: blank stare, whaaa?
Me: making eye contact and speaking clearly, “I’ll have a Campari and soda with a lime.”
Server: “I’m sorry?”
Me: slowly and with great emphasis “I’ll.Have.A.Campari.And.Club.Soda.With.A.Lime.”
Server: nodding “Sure thing.”
He scurries off and the Saint comes in and is seated. Now, I can see the bar over the Saint’s shoulder from where I’m sitting. I watch the bartender fix my drink and also realize that he has a look of concern on his face. For that matter so does the server. They both examine the bottle of Campari. They both sniff the bottle. Then the server smells my drink and passes it back to the bartender who does the same. I start laughing. I say to the Saint, “Oh my God, they think the bottle turned!”
Now the bartender pours a wee draught into a glass. The server tastes it and is very much convinced that this can not possibly be what it’s supposed to smell or taste like. (In fairness, Campari looks a lot like Grenadine but it tastes…well…NOTHING like Grenadine.)
I’m still finding the entire scene endlessly amusing. The server shrugs, shakes his head and with much trepidation approaches the table. Before he can even set the drink down the Saint calmly remarks, “Dude, don’t worry, it’s SUPPOSED to smell like that.”