So we're at dinner last night on the patio at this decent restaurant in a decent town. Now, the word "decent" can be interpreted a thousand different ways, but for the purposes of this blog post I'm using it to mean "typically drama free and populated by people who are reasonably educated and sober." Anyway: Us. Patio. Dinner.
There are two guys at the table behind us who, not long after we order, are joined by a girl. A few minutes later, another girl joins them. This second girl is wearing a black one piece bathing suit with so many parts of it cut away, it might as well be a two piece, and a teensy tiny aqua colored beach wrap skirt type thing. Please understand, I'm being generous when I apply the word 'skirt' to this piece of material. Oh, and how could I forget? She has fantastically huge matching aqua-colored feather dangle earrings. (I love that everything about this chick requires endless strings of adjectives.)
Eyebrows are raised. But you know what? We're out on the patio, it was a gorgeous day, they'd probably just come from the beach...whatever. The fact that she was in a restaurant in swimwear wasn't really a big deal on its own.
Several minutes later, we start hearing talk of, "Where is Crystal?" Almost immediately, 'Crystal' emerges from the restaurant onto the patio, bursts into tears, and shouts to the table behind us that she just got into a fight in the bathroom "because of you guys" and she just wants to go home.
Let the drama begin.
There is more crying on Crystal's part, lots of cajoling on the table's part to get her to come sit down and calm down. Crystal refuses and is getting louder and more incoherent by the minute. It's fantastic. We are suddenly on Cops or some outdoor patio version of Jerry Springer. Crystal is clearly drunk out of her mind. She is now screaming at her table of friends (who continue to calmly encourage her to come sit down) and kicking/shoving the portable fencing enclosing the patio. Crystal storms off down the street.
Many, many eyebrows are raised.
The non-bathing suit wearing chick whispers an apology to the rest of the patio. The table debates who's going to go get her drunk ass. No one leaves. It's remarkable. It's as if they believe that she'll simply keep walking forever and eventually become Not Their Problem. Like there is some barrier between Crystal and the patio now, like we are all protected.
Ben and I just wait for Act II.
Ten minutes pass. During this time, the table discusses how crazy Crystal is, how drunk she gets, how many times she's tried to get into fights with bathing suit girl, and so on. It is a marvel to listen to.
Crystal returns.
Now she's on a mission. She is going to "KICK THAT GIRL'S ASS." She breaches the patio and rushes the restaurant door. One of the guys at the table, "Joe," finally gets up and chases after her. The next time I see them, Joe is carrying Crystal fireman-style over his shoulder while her drunk ass brain tries to catch up to what the hell has just happened to her.
Over the next thirty minutes--THIRTY MINUTES--bathing suit girl shouts into her cell phone at Joe while he tries to get Crystal into a cab. Apparently it never occurs to her to simply stand up and walk around to the front of the building. "NO, SHE CAN'T GO TO MY MOTHER'S HOUSE! IT'S JIMMY'S BIRTHDAY TODAY. THE DOG. SHE'S GIVING HIM A PARTY. MY MOTHER WILL FUH-REAK IF SHE SHOWS UP THERE. NO! SEND HER TO WINDSOR. WIIIN. SOOOOR. DID YOU JUST FUCKING HEAR ME? SHE CAN'T GO TO MY MOTHER'S HOUSE! JUST SEND HER TO FUCKING WINDSOR. JUST PUT HER ON....CRYSTAL? BABY? YOU GOTTA TRY TO BE A LITTLE SOBER RIGHT NOW, OKAY?" And so on and so forth.
Finally, Ben leans across the table and whispers to me, "I've never see Jersey Shore, but I'm pretty sure this is what it's like."
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