So apparently the bars in small-town Connecticut close at 11pm even on a Friday. This wasn't something we were aware of, and so we rudely sat secluded in the back corner until 12:30am, unaware that the place had emptied out. At one point, the bar started playing Ben Folds Five's "Brick" and I joked, "Are they playing an abortion song to get us to leave?" - but maybe it was intentional after all. (Also, I blew my own my mind when I shorthanded Ben Folds Five to "BFF" and realized that was already a familiar acronym.)
Again, oblivious to the time situation, Austin wanted to order drinks to celebrate one of our friends getting engaged this week.
Austin: How much is your cheapest champagne?
Waitress: We only have one kind of champagne, it's $69 for a bottle.
Austin: Oh boy. Uh, how much is your cheapest Miller Lite? [At another point, he would clarify that Miller Lite is the "champagne of beer."]
Waitress: We don't sell Miller Lite.
Austin: Okay, then just bring us something that we can pretend is champagne.
Waitress: Ummm… what?
Austin: Something bubbly. Anything with bubbles.
He then asked her to take a picture of us and referred to her as a "nice waitress", which I know he meant sincerely, but came across as utterly sarcastic because of the context. The wine she brought us did bubble briefly, but given how irritated she must have been with us, I wouldn't be surprised if that was because she had farted in it.
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