September 14, 2005
Chippewa Falls, Part II: Dinner In the Storm
We are loud people, we bottle blowers. We're the people you don't want to sit near in a theatre. We're the people to whom you say, "Oh, that's okay, I'll catch the next elevator." We're the people you dread seeing walk into your fine dining establishment.
As was the case at the Chippewa Falls supper club... whose name escapes me, so no free plug for them!
They totally saw us coming. K probably told him over the phone, loudly, (in March, when she made the reservation), "We'll be in town playing at the Leinenkugel brewery!" And they were like, "Crap, put those lushes on the porch. Alone."
Which they did. And it was actually quite lovely. The weather forecast called for a pleasant night, we had a delightful view of... some river. Chippewa River, perhaps? I don't know -- damn public school edumacation. There was no one around to purse their lips and flare their nostrils at us, and we were assigned two very loud and capable waitresses, probably flown in from Camp David just for us.
We all ordered drinks, asking about the wine selection as if we don't normally drink our's out of a box. The waitress asked if we'd care to smell the spigot, but we declined, as we were too busy deciding which deep-fried appetizers to order. We were in Wisconsin, after all.
The sun started going down as we drank and waited for our Beer-Battered Sampler Platter, and it started to drizzle a bit. But we are hearty folk with much natural insulation, so when the waitresses started apologizing and fretting about our comfort, we poo-pooed their concerns.
"Oh, we're fine! It's going to take a lot more than a few drops to make us go inside with those fair-weather sissies! We thrive on the fresh air! We are too full of life to be caged by your dining room! We laugh at your concern -- Ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaaa!"
But as we were dipping our friend cheese curds into our ranch dressing, the wind picked up, and it began to get a bit damp for the people on one side of the table -- my side. Still, we are Midwestern Lutherans, not accustomed to making a fuss, especially over the weather. So we put our sweaters and jackets over our shoulders and ordered our entrees.
Looking back, that's where we went wrong. We thought: The surf-n-turf was ordered. We're committed. We can't move now. So we bundled up as best we could. Deb and Jules looked quite fetching cloaked in the tablecloths from a couple of unused tables nearby. I had rain blowing sideways into my left ear, but I refused to put up my hood. What am I, an elf?
"Red sky at dawn. Blood has been shed this night."
Even Orlando Bloom looks like a dweeb in a hood. There's no way I was wearing one! So I kept getting colder, along with everyone else. And our drinks got more and more diluted by the rain.
And then something very strange happened. My Dad asked me for the key to my car to go get his jacket. Now, my Dad's people are from the land of the Fjords, and he's been slowing embalming himself since 1956. For that man to get cold enough for a jacket?! Well, let's just say I knew we were not just being babies about the weather.
Reluctantly, we cursed Mother Nature, admitted defeat and requested a table indoors. But Mother Nature, as we know, must have her way, and she was determined that at least some of us were going to fall prey to pneumonia that night!
Dad came back from the car, empty-handed, and said, "The key's stuck in the lock. I couldn't get it out."
Now, here's the part where I would love to mock my Dad's incompetence and berate him for breaking my car, but it has happened once before that I couldn't get my key outta my car. So I'll have to cut Dad some slack. This time.
For the next half hour, we tugged and twisted and fiddled that damn key. In the rain. Dad with no jacket; I with no hood. Pausing only for a quick trip to the salad bar, and then back outside for more futzing.
Meanwhile, the hostesses set up a couple tables for us in the "Lounge" (read "Right Next To the Bar," which was perfect). Making sure to grab our silverware and our drinks, we migrated past a few dozen puzzled diners toward the warm, welcoming glow of the television.
I think Dad felt kinda responsible about the stuck key, cuz he totally took it upon himself to locate a locksmith who would come out on a Sunday night in the rain in Bumblefuck, Wisconsin. And then the locksmith tugged and twisted and fiddled, to no avail. Soon, I was halfway through my filet mignon.
Then Dad came inside and said, "Craig got it."
Wait. WHAT?!?! Me, my mechanical engineer father and the locksmith have been screwing with that stupid key for over an hour, and the lawyer gets it out?! What'd he do -- talk it into giving up?! And where was he two hours ago?! BEFORE I made a locksmith come out on a Sunday night?!
But the locksmith turned out to be my kind of guy. He goes, "Well, normally, it would cost you $103.27 to have me drive 27 miles on a Sunday. But if you never saw me, I'll take fifty bucks cash."
Done and done!
Which reminds me, I still owe my Dad fifty bucks.
Comments
You went inside??? Pussies.
Posted by: Queen of Ass at September 14, 2005 01:19 PM
So your vast hoodie collection is all for show? The false front of a Hollywood western in knit form? I thought it was so you could be prepared for things like weather & bird flu. We were like soul sisters. I stand betrayed.
Posted by: qfe23 at September 14, 2005 01:35 PM
Don't ask me why, but I kind of picture this gathering (and the supper club) like the scene in Beauty and the Beast where they are praising Gaston.
Did they use antlers in all of their decorating?
Posted by: Marty at September 14, 2005 01:54 PM
He got your key stuck in your car and you're going to pay him back?
Posted by: AB at September 14, 2005 03:32 PM