I am at the local applebees. They are having one dollar margherita night.
The atmosphere is mediocre. The service is prompt. I am greeted and brought to my seat. She reads me the specials as if she does not already know why the fuck I am here in the first place. I think to myself 'I don't want the fucking ribs, I just want the awful cheap booze'.
I order the ribs anyway. And me and my two friends order our first round of drinks. The server sighs. We are soon brought our awful sugar booze concoction and toss it into our gullet. The alcohol works its way to my pitiful excuse for a liver. One drink down.
Chips and salsa arrive. I don't remember who ordered it. We are awaiting out second round of drinks while the salt from the chips makes me wary of dehydration. If I don't get my drink soon I very well may die of dehydration I think to myself. Luckily the server arrives with our drinks just in time. For now I am safe. Two drinks down.
The chips and salsa are gone now. The server asks if I want more. I tell her no. I just want another drink. A baby at a table across from us is staring it me. Intently. Harshly. Cruelly. The baby is judging me. Go ahead and judge me baby. No one is going to stop me from pounding down a life endangering amount of shitty Applebee's cocktails tonight. The server comes back with the drinks. Three drinks down.
My ribs arrive along with the fourth margherita I ordered. I sip on this one like a fine wine while I work my way through the most dissappointing excuse for bar b que that white america has ever had the nerve to create. My slow sips on the drink give it more dignity than it deserves. I finish my meal knowing I will probably regret the ribs more than the shitty cocktails. And that's saying a lot. Four drinks down.
My fifth cocktail arrives. I slam it down making eyecontact with the still staring baby while I do. I know by the end of tonight I will be just as useless as the baby and probably shitting myself as well. Five drinks down.
I order another cocktail and quickly hightail my way to the bathroom. I break the seal and a gush of what used to be really shitty booze rushes out of me. My body is relieved to be free of some of the toxins. My cocktail is waiting for me at the table. My friends that came with me are beginning to show signs of being incredibly fucking sloshed. The table with the baby left while I was gone in the bathroom. Probably better off. No child needs to witness the pure energy of three dudes in an applebees on dollar marg night. I slam the margerita. Six drinks down.
I yell for another and drink that one down just as quickly. Seven drinks down.
A wave of sadness overcomes me and and I teleport to the bathroom and I am calling my ex. I tell her I want the dog back. She says we never had a dog. I called the wrong ex. I really miss my dog. I get back to the table an eighth marg is waiting for me. I pound it down and meet the boys outside for a short cigarette. We get back inside and finish our ninth drink. Nine drinks down.
It is at this point one of my friends passes out at the table. It is at this point I notice there is Karaoke.
With my tenth drink in hand I sing a heartfelt rendition of Hey There Delilah by the Plain White Tee's. Except there wasnt really karaoke and I was just yelling like an asshole. Sad, thinking about my dog. It is at this point a manager comes up saying and I quote "I think you've had enough". I stand up slam my fist on the table and scream at him "I'LL TELL YOU WHEN I'VE HAD ENOUGH".
And that, your honor, is why I burnt that Applebee's to the ground.
The atmosphere is mediocre. The service is prompt. I am greeted and brought to my seat. She reads me the specials as if she does not already know why the fuck I am here in the first place. I think to myself 'I don't want the fucking ribs, I just want the awful cheap booze'.
I order the ribs anyway. And me and my two friends order our first round of drinks. The server sighs. We are soon brought our awful sugar booze concoction and toss it into our gullet. The alcohol works its way to my pitiful excuse for a liver. One drink down.
Chips and salsa arrive. I don't remember who ordered it. We are awaiting out second round of drinks while the salt from the chips makes me wary of dehydration. If I don't get my drink soon I very well may die of dehydration I think to myself. Luckily the server arrives with our drinks just in time. For now I am safe. Two drinks down.
The chips and salsa are gone now. The server asks if I want more. I tell her no. I just want another drink. A baby at a table across from us is staring it me. Intently. Harshly. Cruelly. The baby is judging me. Go ahead and judge me baby. No one is going to stop me from pounding down a life endangering amount of shitty Applebee's cocktails tonight. The server comes back with the drinks. Three drinks down.
My ribs arrive along with the fourth margherita I ordered. I sip on this one like a fine wine while I work my way through the most dissappointing excuse for bar b que that white america has ever had the nerve to create. My slow sips on the drink give it more dignity than it deserves. I finish my meal knowing I will probably regret the ribs more than the shitty cocktails. And that's saying a lot. Four drinks down.
My fifth cocktail arrives. I slam it down making eyecontact with the still staring baby while I do. I know by the end of tonight I will be just as useless as the baby and probably shitting myself as well. Five drinks down.
I order another cocktail and quickly hightail my way to the bathroom. I break the seal and a gush of what used to be really shitty booze rushes out of me. My body is relieved to be free of some of the toxins. My cocktail is waiting for me at the table. My friends that came with me are beginning to show signs of being incredibly fucking sloshed. The table with the baby left while I was gone in the bathroom. Probably better off. No child needs to witness the pure energy of three dudes in an applebees on dollar marg night. I slam the margerita. Six drinks down.
I yell for another and drink that one down just as quickly. Seven drinks down.
A wave of sadness overcomes me and and I teleport to the bathroom and I am calling my ex. I tell her I want the dog back. She says we never had a dog. I called the wrong ex. I really miss my dog. I get back to the table an eighth marg is waiting for me. I pound it down and meet the boys outside for a short cigarette. We get back inside and finish our ninth drink. Nine drinks down.
It is at this point one of my friends passes out at the table. It is at this point I notice there is Karaoke.
With my tenth drink in hand I sing a heartfelt rendition of Hey There Delilah by the Plain White Tee's. Except there wasnt really karaoke and I was just yelling like an asshole. Sad, thinking about my dog. It is at this point a manager comes up saying and I quote "I think you've had enough". I stand up slam my fist on the table and scream at him "I'LL TELL YOU WHEN I'VE HAD ENOUGH".
And that, your honor, is why I burnt that Applebee's to the ground.
