A couple of weeks ago I was dining at the Red Robin with the sister wives (that’s what a group of us friends call ourselves–I don’t exactly remember its origins).  We were sitting at one of those tables where one side has chairs and the other is up against that long, booth-like bench that has three or four other tables against it.  We had finished our meal and were just chatting about the usual–husbands, children, hopes and dreams, grooming habits and whatnot.  Anywho, I was sitting on the bench side of our table when out of nowhere this guy comes and plops himself down right next to me.  And I mean right next to me.  I was somewhat startled and speechless, but one of the other SW spoke up.  I don’t recall the conversation exactly, but here’s the gist:

Sister Wife#1:  “May we help you?”

Ugly Drunk* Guy:  “Yeah, see, I think I’m the biggest badass in this place, and I need some co-signers.”

*It only took half a breath (hot, stinky breath in my face *shudder*) to figure out this guy was smashed.  The sister wives looked around at each other confused.  Co-signers?  What the H did that mean?

SW#2:  “You know, we’re all married.”

And one of us (not me) was obviously pregnant and another had a small baby with her.  But was that supposed to be some kind of pick-up line?  Mind you, he is still right there, and I was trying to lean as far downwind as I possibly could.

UDG:  You suck.

 OK, now I was starting to really get uncomfortable.  Everyone loves the friendly, neighborhood sloshed guy, but I was a little uncomfortable with the turn of his tone.

Me, trying to assert myself:  “I think you should leave now.”

UDG:  “Why?”

Me, still trying:  “Because you’re being very unpleasant.”

Unpleasant?  I may has well of said “Good day, sir.”  A few other words were exchanged that I just cannot recall.  I caught the attention of the waitress the next table over.

Me, desperately trying:  “Excuse me.  He is not part of our party, and we’d like him to leave.”

She looked at me with a kind of oddly confused expression on her face, like she was trying to decide whether or not I was joking.  She must have seen a bit of panic in my eyes because she said she would return with the manager.

UDG:  “I’m just trying to have a conversation.”

Me:  “Maybe you should just leave before they come back.”

 The waitress returns with the manager–another woman.  Not quite the calvary I was expecting, but she was rather tall and somewhat imposing-ish.  I again explained that he was not “part of our party” and that we would like him to leave.  She asked if he was alone or there with someone, and then escorted him back to his table.  After a few minutes, she returned and assured us that they had not served him any alcohol that night (he must have just come that way), and that she had asked his friends to try prevent him from further bothering their other guests.

The Sister Wives decided that we should leave while he was still finishing up his dinner, so as to avoid any further contact.  On the car ride home we all had a good laugh about it.  (”You’re being very unpleasant!” and “He’s not part of our party!” are the new catch phrases.)  What exactly did he mean by co-signers anyway?  Did he want us to vouch for his badassedness?  SW #2 said she wished she had said we’d be willing to “co-sign” that he was the biggest jackass in the place.  Why is it that we always think of the good comebacks too late?  The other SW said they were somewhat disappointed that our little conversation with UDG was cut short–they were curious where he was going with the whole thing.  But they weren’t the ones with the drunk guy in their lap, and I was not interested in seeing what UDG would do if he became Angry DG.

SW#2:  “Well, now you can go home and tell Chuck* you’ve still got it.”

Me:  “Right.  Because nothing builds up the old self-esteem like the attentions of an ugly drunk guy.”

*sigh*  Good times.

What about you?  Any interesting encounters you’d like to share?

*That’s the alias I’ve given my husband.