Drugs, Pugs and Rock ‘n Roll

Bill and I went to our favorite restaurant last week for pizza and a couple of icy cold beers.  Now that most of the snowbirds are gone, we don’t have to show up at 4:30 in the afternoon to get a booth.  We can eat at a more reasonable time, like 5:15 before the crowds start pouring in.

This particular Friday, there was only one booth left so we snagged it quickly.  Our waiter, Brandon, knows us on sight and delivers two frosty glasses of beer to our table almost before we sit down.  We love Brandon and tip him well.

We were in the middle booth of three along the back wall of the restaurant.  The booth behind Bill’s back contained a foursome of seniors.  The booth behind my back held two youngish women and a guy,  Not only were they much younger than the normal clientele, but they were also much more ‘flamboyant’ than the usual patrons of this particular establishment.  The young woman directly behind me had short, spikey brunette hair with neon green tips.  Maybe it was left over from St. Patrick’s day.  She had on a tight, sleeveless tee shirt that exposed tattoos up and down both arms. 

The other young woman had long blonde hair clipped back in a ponytail.  She also had a frightening number of facial piercing.  She had a nose ring and two small eyebrow rings and a gold stud through her lower lip, along with numerous studs going up both of her ears.  I guessed that her body contained metal objects poking out of or through other parts that were immediately visible.  She sat across the booth, next to the only man at the table.  He had greasy, shoulder-length brown hair and he looked like he had just come from a motorcross race and hadn’t showered yet.  His Guns N’ Roses tee was wrinkled and torn and the sleeves had been ripped off.  He also had tattoos covering his arms and neck.

As they continued their conversation after we sat down, I took a gulp from my beer and stared across the table at Bill with wide eyes.  “What?” he asked, sipping his own beer.

I whispered, “They’re talking about their favorite drugs.”

“Who?” he asked.

I nodded my head backwards, then hitchhiked my thumb in that direction after Bill gave me a quizzical look.  “Oh,” he replied, finally understanding.  “Drugs?” he mouthed.

I nodded and dug in my purse for my little notepad.  I quickly wrote:

She likes Prozac but he think Xanax is better.  They’re going to trade later tonight.

“Isn’t that for heartburn?” he said softly.

“No, that’s Zantac,” I replied quietly.

Brandon suddenly appeared and asked if we wanted our usual, to which we smiled and said “Yes, please.”  As he walked away, my eyes got big again and I picked up my pen and wrote:

Tattoo girl is talking about someone named Norman who only likes to eat applesauce and cheese.

Bill’s eyes got bigger than mine as he read my little note.  I quickly took back the pad and wrote:

Never mind it’s her dog.  It’s a pug and she’s going to put him on a diet.

At one point during our meal, Piercings Girl referred to Dirty Guy’s tee shirt and asked if he liked Guns N’ Roses.  He replied, “Nah.  I just got it at a garage sale for 50 cents.  That’s where I do all my shopping, man.  Goodwill and yard sales.  It’s awesome.”

Yeah, and so was the odor wafted over from his booth.  Awesome!  I considered suggesting that he pick up some bath soap and maybe a half-used jug of Tide the next time he peruses an estate sale so he could shower and maybe launder some of his clothing bargains. 

But I didn’t.  I may be old and cranky, but I’m not crazy.

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