Friday night was planned to include paid comedy and Points-friendly eating and imbibing. The Best Friend and I began the evening at a chain restaurant with a run in with an old friend and three Points worth of Miller Lite. Eat your hearts out, Carrie and Samantha.
Halfway through our mildly appetizing, fully Iceburg salads, the manager approaches. Are you ladies enjoying your evening?
Miller Lite Girls: Yes. (My brain continues: Now let us finish these drinks and order the next round before happy hour prices run out.)
He lingers with a smarmy smile. Can I ask you a question? This guy looks like his lunch table sent him to talk to us on a bet.
The Best Friend and I exchange knowing glances. (Read: Sweet Lord we know what the question is, because you’ll find it too rude to ask Kris about how it feels to have the world’s largest chin pimple, so you must be heading for the other one of us.) At least one of us being an ex-Girl Scout, we politely offer, yes.
But there are no free drinks, no questions about how our service has been, no notification that hey, asshats, you left your lights on. Instead, Mr. Original offers, how tall are you?
Ugh. Can men ask nothing original of this woman? We get it. She’s tall. In the 15 years we’ve known each other, we have often thought of creating some sort of stats nametag for her: I’m 6’1”, no basketball, no volleyball, now leave me alone before I kick your ass and choke you with your own flare.
The Best Friend coughs up her stats with a smile. Thank goodness the beer has reached her bloodstream.
You are tall! You taller than me! You know what? We have the training staff this weekend. He clearly finds himself hilarious. This guy probably loves him some Carrot Top. He continues, I asked trainee if he seen anything he had questions about, never seen before, and you know what he said?
The Best Friend and I check for escape routes. Seeing none, we continue drinking beer and waiting for the punchline.
Most unfortunately, he continues. Trainee said, ‘why is it that when you see the tallest woman you then see the shortest man?’
And then, oh, yes – wait for it! I promise, it’s worth it! – he turns away from laughing at the Best Friend (who we're guessing at this point to be the "tall" portion of the equation) and proceeds to POINT HIS FINGER AT A LITTLE PERSON SITTING NEXT TO US AT THE BAR.
Crickets.
Crickets.
Oh cripes. Let’s be honest. These were full blown cicadas.
Gone are the days of yore when out of sheer reactivity the Best Friend and I used to a) attempt to educate the masses on how rude rudeness really is, b) embark on a drunk screaming fest regarding the rock these people must call home, or c) spend the rest of the night rhetorically asking just what they would have said if someone had rudely pointed out their accents or botched highlights or halitosis.
With happy hour almost up, the Best Friend simply stated, “I guess it's just the balance of the universe.”
Brilliant. And this seemed to satisfy Rudeness, as It was next seen smarmying away from the table to report back to Trainee.
I couldn’t help thinking of yet another way we might achieve a little balance in our universe. Sadly, I don't think he was wearing any flare.
Halfway through our mildly appetizing, fully Iceburg salads, the manager approaches. Are you ladies enjoying your evening?
Miller Lite Girls: Yes. (My brain continues: Now let us finish these drinks and order the next round before happy hour prices run out.)
He lingers with a smarmy smile. Can I ask you a question? This guy looks like his lunch table sent him to talk to us on a bet.
The Best Friend and I exchange knowing glances. (Read: Sweet Lord we know what the question is, because you’ll find it too rude to ask Kris about how it feels to have the world’s largest chin pimple, so you must be heading for the other one of us.) At least one of us being an ex-Girl Scout, we politely offer, yes.
But there are no free drinks, no questions about how our service has been, no notification that hey, asshats, you left your lights on. Instead, Mr. Original offers, how tall are you?
Ugh. Can men ask nothing original of this woman? We get it. She’s tall. In the 15 years we’ve known each other, we have often thought of creating some sort of stats nametag for her: I’m 6’1”, no basketball, no volleyball, now leave me alone before I kick your ass and choke you with your own flare.
The Best Friend coughs up her stats with a smile. Thank goodness the beer has reached her bloodstream.
You are tall! You taller than me! You know what? We have the training staff this weekend. He clearly finds himself hilarious. This guy probably loves him some Carrot Top. He continues, I asked trainee if he seen anything he had questions about, never seen before, and you know what he said?
The Best Friend and I check for escape routes. Seeing none, we continue drinking beer and waiting for the punchline.
Most unfortunately, he continues. Trainee said, ‘why is it that when you see the tallest woman you then see the shortest man?’
And then, oh, yes – wait for it! I promise, it’s worth it! – he turns away from laughing at the Best Friend (who we're guessing at this point to be the "tall" portion of the equation) and proceeds to POINT HIS FINGER AT A LITTLE PERSON SITTING NEXT TO US AT THE BAR.
Crickets.
Crickets.
Oh cripes. Let’s be honest. These were full blown cicadas.
Gone are the days of yore when out of sheer reactivity the Best Friend and I used to a) attempt to educate the masses on how rude rudeness really is, b) embark on a drunk screaming fest regarding the rock these people must call home, or c) spend the rest of the night rhetorically asking just what they would have said if someone had rudely pointed out their accents or botched highlights or halitosis.
With happy hour almost up, the Best Friend simply stated, “I guess it's just the balance of the universe.”
Brilliant. And this seemed to satisfy Rudeness, as It was next seen smarmying away from the table to report back to Trainee.
I couldn’t help thinking of yet another way we might achieve a little balance in our universe. Sadly, I don't think he was wearing any flare.
37 Comments:
I would've attempted to restore balance by shorting his tip a little.
Idiots R Us: now serving # 486....
i would have made him new pieces of flare with catchy cutting phrases using words he clearly could not understand for his tip.
but i'm little like that...
What an a-hole!
HE SAID THAT? Was *he* enjoying happy hour a little too much? That sounds like a drunk slip. How rude!
Groan. As a 5'11 amazonette, I loathe stuff like that. I think my intimidating "don't even TRY it" visage has served me well over the years.
I love her understated retort. He'll have to live with his bufoonery forever, but her part of the bargain is over and she can go on being tall, cool and subtle.
he likes carrot top. ha ha ha. now THAT is what i call a low blow kris. :)
i can actually believe he said that. he sounds like the type (plus, come on, he clearly loves carrot top).
;) sizz
It's okay for him to be curious about people who are different from himself. It is not okay for him to be an employee of the establishment and engage a patron in such a discussion. He should be reprimanded.
Oh. My. God. I know exactly what you're talking about. My Best Friend is 6'2" and they same exact things happen to us all the time. It's amazing how rude people can be about it. And just like your BF, mine has had to learn to take it in stride.
Wow that IS stunningly rude. SO uncomfortable.
My boyfriend is 6'5" and when he was growing up and the old ladies at church would ask him how tall he was, he'd answer 5'17" -- and they'd respond "Oh, my grandson is 6'1" and I thought you were taller than he was!"
Ha.
The tallest man in the world lives in Southern Illinois, allegedly. In bus stops throughout Chicago there's a sign advertising this fact, shouting: SOMEONE TURN OFF HIS PITUITARY GLAND!" I always thought that was really mean, and added call World's Tallest Man to see if he's aware of CTA signs to my to-do list.
5 ft 7,
Angie
...and then a pit opened up in the floor and his unholy father dragged him back to the lake of fire.
And then Aimee shoved her amazonian foot up his A$$.
That's my girl.
(And no, I do not think Aimee has any amazonian qualities, that's called sarcasm people)
It is a coincidence that someone sent me this link just as I was reading this entry? No. Twas fate. Enjoy. Or shudder--whatever you feel is appropriate.
http://www.thesuperficial.com/image.php?path=/archives/ctop_workout2.jpg
Holy rudeness. What a lame ass. Mmm. I'm on points too, Miller Lite is 3 points??? I thought lite beer was 2. Oh crap.
you know what balance is? lettin' a girl finish her drink without some talking cliche bothering her...unless he's cute...then it's even more disappointing :)
Beautiful. There's plenty of rudeness around, and I am proud that you chose to meet his with some civility and tact.
*sniff* I think you're maturing!
Seriously - way to avoid dropping to his level.
Replace Miller Lights with gin and tonics or a nice chianti and Aimée would have taken him down. I wish I were there with you. Can you picture us leaping up and kicking some ass? Harry Caray can. And then he'd eat the moon made of cheese and move his head to and fro.
Aimée, we love you, basketball or no basketball. Oh, and Aimée? WHAT THE EFF IS WRONG WITH YOU THAT YOU CAN'T RETURN A GD E-MAIL?
*cough* Kris, have I told you lately that I heart you?
You guys were much nicer to him than I would have been. What an assclown.
Yikes. What a freak.
We'll have to go there when I visit.
Kris: My friend Mrs. Jorge here was wondering how much pain you can take from a punch to the gut?
Rudeness: [Eyeing both women,a nd looking decidedly nervous, but confident he can take it.]Try me.
Mrs. Jorge: [Whistles, and Mr. Jorge enters the picture. Rudeness looks REALLY nervous.]
Jorge: For the record, my wife hits harder than I do. By the way, I'm sorry about the concrete wall I busted outside...
Yeah.
Sweet.
:)
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Check out dontharassthetallgirl.blogspot.com
My friend Claudia is 6'5" and chronicles the silly questions and comments she receives on a daily basis. Good fun.
I was going to comment earlier but I could think of nothing to say. My only response is, where do these assholes come from?
I used to love when my buddy Baby Shoes (a lil person) used to fire up a fatty and say "Let's Get Small."
I get stupid questions too for my hair color. "Are you a natural red-head?"
"Why yes, would you like me to pull down my pants and prove it to you?"
Uggh!!
The collorary to his question is: "why is it that the dorkiest guys always hit on the most available girls in a bar???"
Next time, try Outback. The Austrailians are way cooler...
what a loser (was it a ruby tuesday?. I bet it was)
Oh, eeeeeek....
That's just. So. Wrong. Oh, God, I hope the "short" portion of the equation didn't hear that...
I'd like to balance HIS universe...
Aaaaccckkk! That's embarrassing to just READ, let alone live through. What a schmuck!
Too bad he didn't have suspenders on to hold his flair. You could have said, "Now, may I ask YOU a question?" and followed with SNAP!!! "Did that hurt?"
Muahaha!
And that's why he's working there and not at the nuclear lab.
And then the tall girl hit him on top of the head while the short man took out his knees?
People are rude. Makes you want to write a strongly-worded letter. Or TP his house.
He's a gold-medal moron. You should totally get a pic, his name, and post it. I'm all for this kind of hateration.
What an asswipe. Must be evidence of the tainted genepool.
LOL! So this kindly older dude told me today that I "wear my height well." (I'm a little under 5'10" so I can only imagine the kind of stuff your frind gets. Of course I immediately thought of this post.
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