At Adelaide airport the other day, I was buying a pint for myself and a gin & tonic for The Dreaded One.
At a random point during the preparation of the drinks, the barman looks at me and says, "Legs Eleven?"
He may as well have slapped me with a wet fish, because wut? The fuck is legs eleven all about? Have I wandered into a game of bar bingo? Is this some new bar jargony thing that I don't know about? If so, how did I get out of the loop so drastically and so quickly? Even more baffling because bars are basically my second home.
At a random point during the preparation of the drinks, the barman looks at me and says, "Legs Eleven?"
He may as well have slapped me with a wet fish, because wut? The fuck is legs eleven all about? Have I wandered into a game of bar bingo? Is this some new bar jargony thing that I don't know about? If so, how did I get out of the loop so drastically and so quickly? Even more baffling because bars are basically my second home.
This barman and me, we stare at each other with impressive blankness
for an unfeasibly long time. I can think of absolutely nothing to say in
response. Is it a joke I'm not getting? If it was a joke surely he'd be
showing some sign that it was a joke... raised eyebrow... wry smirk... a
nod or a wink... but he's giving me nothing.
Finally, after a long, long, long, long time of nothing, the barman ends this stalemate of stupid by using a pair of little tongs to pick up a wedge of lemon and putting it in The Dreaded One's gin & tonic.
Finally, after a long, long, long, long time of nothing, the barman ends this stalemate of stupid by using a pair of little tongs to pick up a wedge of lemon and putting it in The Dreaded One's gin & tonic.
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