You just don't expect this kind of thing at Chili's

Last Saturday Leslie and I went with another couple to dinner and a movie. Because we are that exciting.

After a dinner of tapas in downtown Norfolk we headed over to the MacArthur Center mall, a beautiful upscale shopping plaza unfortunately located near less-than-desirable areas of Norfolk. We were about an hour early for our movie, so the girls headed off to shop and Chris and I walked around for a while before we arrived at the inevitable conclusion: Let's grab a beer!

Malls are not known for bars, and MacArthur is no different. But they did have a Chili's and it is hard to argue with an all-day Happy Hour and a 23 oz beer for $4. The bar was crowded on this Saturday evening, but we did manage to find one open seat in the corner that we could hover around. We opted for the larger beer because we had an hour until the movie, and we figured 23 oz of beer could only help Mall Cop. After purchasing our Miller Lites we settled in to watch whatever college basketball game was on TV. I can't even tell you who was playing, because, not 30 seconds into my beer, the drunk lump on the stool next to us awoke. And our suffering began. What follows below is a rough transcript of the conversation. I cannot aver to its complete accuracy, due to the brain damage suffered in that interminable five minutes.

Scene. Chili's Bar and Grill. A late Saturday evening. The bar is full, but the cold winter night makes the crowd feel warm and inviting. Our two intrepid guys enter the bar and gravitate toward the one vacant seat at the bar. The man on the right of the empty chair eagerly invites us to take the seat. Another man, mid-twenties, sits drunkenly to the left of the empty chair, nursing the final sips of what was most assuredly his fourth or fifth Bud Lite of the night. The man goes unnoticed by our friends until, sensing the unmolested presence around him, he stirs from his stupor and latches on.

Drunk: Hey.
Me:
Drunk: Hey.
Me:
Drunk: How are you.
Me: Fine.
Drunk: Who do you work for?
Me: The Navy.
Drunk: Are you an officer or enlisted?
Me: Officer.
Drunk: What's your rank?
Me: Lieutenant.
Drunk: How long you've been in?
Me: Two years.
Drunk: My dad was in the Navy.
Me: Cool.
Drunk: He is a retired commander.
Me: Good for him.
Drunk: I am a freelance writer.
Aside to Chris: Oh God.
Me: Oh? Who do you write for?
Drunk: Whoever pays me. Mostly truck magazines.
Me: That's nice.
Drunk: Whatever, man. If they want to pay me $600 a month, that's cool.
Me: Sure.
Drunk: I see your ring. You married?
Me: Yep.
Drunk: How long?
Me: Two years.
Drunk: Where is she?
Me: Shopping.
Drunk: What for?
Me: Whatever she wants.
Drunk: You don't know what?
Me: No.
Drunk: You've been married two years and you don't know what she likes?
Me (telepathic guy signal to Chris): Drink quickly.
Drunk: What does she do?
Me: Teaches.
Drunk: In Norfolk.
Me: Sure.
Drunk: What school?
Me: Uhhh....Norcom. (footnote: Norcom is not in Norfolk, as I later discovered)
Drunk: In Norfolk?
Me: Yup.
Drunk: What part of Norfolk?
Me: Don't know.
Drunk: Oh. I've lived in Norfolk my whole life.
Chris' phone rings. It is his wife.
Chris (aside): We're at Chili's. DON'T COME HERE. Where are you? Okay, we'll meet you there.
Drunk (noticing Chris for the first time): Hey.
(repeat above conversation verbatim)
Drunk (after interrogating Chris): I know why no one sat here. I'm just trying to be friendly.
Me (finishing beer and already running like hell): Yeah. Well, take it easy.

Elapsed time: 4 min, 48 sec.

The worst beer I have ever had in my life. But Mall Cop was hilarious.