Keep the change, ya filthy animal.

I am not what you would call... cultured.  My idea of fine dining is... Well, one time I went to a McDonald's on Wall Street and they had guys in tuxedos bringing the trays to the table for you and there was someone playing a piano somewhere.  I was 18-years-old and pretty impressed by that.  I'm actually still pretty impressed by that...

 

The last time I went to see a musical production, it was The Backyardigans Live.

 

So when a young friend of mine was raising funds for her dance team to go to national competition, and the fundraiser was a wine tasting, I figured HEY, I can support the arts and do something kind of classy at the same time.  If that doesn't score me some culture points, I just don't know what will.

 

I found a couple of friends to join me, and we prettied ourselves up for our little girls' night out.  I even wore some heels and my dark jeans that the tag promised would ultimately lift my backside, however I think you have to have something to lift in order for them to work... Anyway...

 

We walked in and at first felt like... Well, Baptists at a wine tasting.  The Husband had told me beforeheand that at a real wine tasting, you don't actually swallow the wine and you're supposed to have water after each sample in order to cleanse your palate.  That just shows you how much more cultured he is than me, especially since The Husband has never had an alcoholic beverage in his life.

 

There was no spitting of the wine at this tasting, though.  There were people with the biggest glasses I've ever seen that they had obviously brought themselves, and they were swirling the wine and sniffing it, and I tried really hard to stop giggling everytime I saw them imitate them.

 

My friends and I dutifully listened as the wine experts detailed how the wines were made, what region the grapes were grown in, and demonstrated the correct wine tasting techniques.

 

Then my friends and I would take sips and thoughtfully express our opinions to one another.  ("This smells like an outhouse."  "This tastes like booty.")  We also established our own wine tasting techniques.  ("Eat a chocolate truffle right after, it'll taste better."  "Try this piece of bread right before, it'll taste better."  "Just hold your breath while you sip."  "Ohmygosh just dump it in the sink!!!")

 

Really and truly, there were a few wines that were quite delicious (two unanimous favorites: Brimstone Red Blend and Peter Brum Eiswein), and we enjoyed ourselves immensely. 

 

But the wine tasting ended at 8 o'clock, and it was Friday night, and we weren't quite ready to head home, and we wanted a snack, so we decided to head to Chili's and, much to our server's dismay, have some chips and queso and sodas -- and that's all.  Feeling all generous having just supported the arts and everything, we decided in advance that we would tip her well.

 

So we ate and talked and laughed, and then we got our checks.  My total: $2.43.  I put a $5 bill on my check, and I figured I would just leave the change for our server.  After all, she didn't wrinkle her nose too much when I asked that a little Dr. Pepper be added to my Diet Coke, and she did check on us even though we just had our chips and sodas, so I figured that would be a classy thing to do.

 

One of my friends paid with a credit card, the other had the same total as I did and paid with a $20 bill.

 

When our server returned with the card and the change, 57 cents was missing from my friend's change, and I was missing $2.57.  That's right.  Our server kept my change.

 

I thought really hard and tried to remember if I'd actually said the words, Keep the change, but nope, I hadn't.  My friends and I were a little stunned, and we sat for a little while waiting to see if our server was going to walk by again.  We thought it was pretty likely since we were sitting so close to the kitchen. 

 

But, like my change, our server had disappeared.

 

Since I was going to give her that anyway, we just decided to leave, and then we were further distracted by the fact that I couldn't find my car key.  We moved the table, checked under it, went out to the car and looked around it, emptied my purse, retraced my steps to and from the door to the restaurant, had to drive home to get The Husband's key to see if I had locked mine in the car, searched the car, emptied my purse, and scoured the parking lot. 

 

Then we gave up.

 

As I drove one of my friends back to my house so she could get her car, she said the night would've ended a lot funnier if I had found that key.  I agreed.  We pulled into the garage and headed to the door so she could go in and get her things, and I thought I felt my phone vibrate in my purse.  I reached into the front pocket to get my phone and...

 

found my key.

 

Unfortunately, I did not also find $2.57, but it still helped end the night on a high note.

 

How was your weekend?