I remember my first martini
experience with a wee bit of horror.
It was Thanksgiving and I had
decided to go down and spend it with my boys in Portland . The hotel I was staying in was having a
martini bar happy hour event down in the guest lobby. Never having had one before, my oldest son
insisted that I give it a try. A little
pre-party before going to dinner you might say.
I realized that I really liked them – which surprised me.
We had reservations downtown for
a multi course holiday dinner. We arrived
at the restaurant earlier than expected so the hostess suggested that we have a
drink while we wait. She pointed to an
adjoining doorway. Taking her advice we
went into the dimly lit bar to wait for our table, where of course, I continued
with my martini adventure.
I was about halfway through my
drink when our name was called. I
grabbed my drink and turned to follow the hostess spilling some of my drink
accidentally onto the back of an elderly gentleman. He had stopped suddenly in front of me, and
there was no avoiding it. I noticed that
he was severely hunched over and from my view it looked like he was pushing a
walker. “Oops, I’m sorry sir.” I tried wiping it off with my bare hand, but
his jacket was shiny brown leather and the liquid just slipped all over the
fabric. “Ohhh, don’t go near an open
flame for awhile.” I tried to be funny.
Maybe it wasn’t a good idea. I
looked for a napkin nearby that I could grab.
The gentleman didn’t so much as
grunt at me. He just turned to look at
me with his cloudy, grumpy, grey eyes.
So much for holiday spirit.
Sheesh! I winced and looked down
at the floor, pretending to try to see where I was walking. He faced forward and continued with his slow
shuffle into the dining room. I was relieved that his table was in the opposite
direction.
The food was exceptional and the
dishes had been cleared to make room for desert and coffee. I have to admit that I had a good buzz going
on, and having a wonderful time with my two handsome sons. I was feeling jovial for sure. In the center of the table sat a candle and a
box of matches.
To this day, I can only blame the
martinis for what happened next.
As we waited for our desert menu,
I glanced around the room. I saw the
grumpy hunched gentleman sitting a few tables away. He was looking in our direction, not really
at us, but I knew he could see us. In an
attempt to be funny, I picked up the box of matches and shook it while looking
at him. I mouthed the words “Be
careful!” Implying that he should avoid
open flames.
“Mom! What are you doing?” My oldest son hissed at
me, grabbing the matches out of my hand and scaring the begeezez out of me.
“What, what?” I was beyond confused.
“Mom” My youngest sounded a bit
anxious and in a whisper he said, “Can’t you see his oxygen tank? You just threatened an old man with
matches. Way to go Mom.” He shot me with his signature dagger eyes.
I was horrified! That’s not what I meant to do at all! I don’t recall for sure or not if my oldest
had gone over to explain my actions, but in my clouded and embarrassed state, I
kind of think he did.
Lesson learned? Without a doubt – make sure to know your
audience!
