Red red wine

For a vote of 7-2 I bring you, the bar story.

This bar story involves a fine bottle of red wine and no photos (sorry Jami) because there were no cameras (that we know of). And really nothing that outrageous. More annoying.

Mimi is one of those friends every person should have. We met 20 years ago this fall as freshman in college. We grew up within 7 miles of each other. She was my coxswain when I rowed in the Head of the Charles and single-handily saved Paris when I was having one of the worst travel experiences in history (What? You don't know about the train ride into Paris? Or the guy j*rking off?).

She lived in NYC while I live in New Orleans. She moved to Seattle in the early 1990's to work for a small computer company whose name starts with M and was founded by a guy named Bill. She came back here to be in my wedding. She came and stayed with us for a long weekend to help take care of the babies so Amazing Guy could studied for law school exams. I remember her standing in the hallway of our little apartment, jiggling a baby on her shoulder at 4:30 in the morning, pleading "Could your mother come over this afternoon so we can have a nap?"

Amazing Guy, the boys and I flew to Italy for Mimi's wedding. The boys were the ringbearers and I read a poem. When our daughter was born, we asked Mimi to be her godmother.

She's also one of those friends who doesn't hold a grudge or get pissy if you don't talk for, oh, months at a time.

So when Amazing Guy and Mimi's husband told us to go out for a girls' night, who were we to say no? She picked me up, drove me to one of her favorite restaurants and we cozied on up to the bar. She asked the sommelier for a wine recommendation and we were drinking a delicious red wine that cost more than I'm willing to spend on shoes, never mind wine.

We decided to eat our dinner at the bar as well and were working our way through the bottle. We still had about 1/3 of the bottle left and had only just finished our entrees. We hadn't really decided on coffee and dessert when a member of the waitstaff, who had never interacted with us, came up and asked,

"Would you mind moving from the bar? You've been here a while and there are people waiting."

I, not wanting to cause a scene, said "of course" and we were moved to a sofa area to finish our wine. We picked up our conversation and seemed no worse for the wear.

However, Mimi did complain to the matron d', who seemed genuinely horrified that we had been asked to move before we had finished our wine or even been asked if we wanted coffee.

I do feel that once you've got a spot in a restaurant, it is yours, especially once you start paying for a bottle of wine that costs as much as what some people earn in one day (like, oh, the people who washed the dished I ate off of that night). But I didn't want the night marred. Now both Mimi and I have a good question for all the cocktail parties we are not going to.

Was it wrong for the waitstaff to ask us to move from the bar?


Last story tomorrow is about finding a troll under the bridge, about to eat a car. I need help for the title since I have found a song for the other Seattle posts. Didn't you notice?