Monthly Archives: October 2011

A Coke in a Bowl

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Author: Kara Mae Adamo.

 So my friend Kat just texted me. The text was simple: she wanted to tell me A.) that she misses me (I miss you, too, buddy!!), and B.) that, tonight, a customer ordered a Miller Lite and asked that she serve it in a wine glass.

This, of course, hurts my brain. First of all, even if wine glasses were designed to enhance the flavors in beer (which they are not), why would anyone want to enhance the flavor of a Miller Lite?

Second—well, actually, there is no “second.” That’s pretty much it. Gross beer served the wrong way. The sommelier student inside of me is cringing and the general public prevails again.

Which brings me to my next story…

One time, about a year ago, my roommate Kira (yep, Kira and Kara…I know, I know.) was serving a table. It was a slow and peaceful Sunday afternoon and one of my favorite managers at the time (Roney) was working that night. Place me, relatively calm, at the doorway of the kitchen, gazing out into the abyss.

Suddenly, something brushes past me in a whirlwind of angst.

I turn as Kira shoots through the kitchen in a fury like hell hath no. She starts clanging dishes around and dumps a coke down the drain. I tilt my head to watch her.

She hunts down a soup cup, fills it with ice and fills it further with coke.

I continue to stand quietly off to the side, watching her. When she drops a straw into the soup cup and spins around I go, “Umm—Kira?”

“Stupid F$#king B*tch,”

“Kira?”

“A F$#king coke in a bowl? Are you kidding me??”

“KIRA WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU??”

Kira, whose face at this point is as red as her hair, goes “This crazy b*tch at my table wants a COKE in a BOWL!”

I blinked. “What?”

Kira waves her hand furiously out the doorway of the kitchen. “A coke in a bowl!”

I stammer. “She…she doesn’t mean, like, a cappuccino mug or something?”

“Nope. She wants a coke in a bowl with ice and a straw,” Kira says, mimicking the process with her hands.

My mouth drops. “Oh my god. Please let me take this to her,” I request.

Kira hands me the tray. I begin to bubble with joy at the prospect.

Gleefully, I frolic past Roney-the-Manager, who instantly does not trust my sudden happiness.

“What are you up to?” He asks with uncertainty.

“I’m making our customers happy…you know…so this is ‘their favorite place to eat, drink and be with friends,’” I reply innocently, quoting the restaurant’s “Goal for Our Customers.”

Now he really doesn’t trust me.

So Roney and Kira follow me to the table.

Elated, I place the bowl down in front of the lady, who looks at it and goes “what is this?”

I respond, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, with “It’s your coke in a bowl, ma’am…just like you ordered.” (toothy smile)

She goes “I didn’t order this.

Her friend then leans in and says “Yes, you did—you said you wanted a coke in a bowl with some ice and a straw.”

The lady turns on her friend and says “in a BOWL…with a STEM.”

Kira steps up and asks, warily, “…a wine glass?”

The lady points to a wine glass on the table next to them and says “like that!”

I can no longer contain myself.

I bust out laughing right in front of the table.

I turn and run off, leaving Roney, who is also laughing, to tend to their needs.

You can’t make this stuff up. It’s not possible. Your brain would turn into ice cream and melt out your ears or something.

I told this story to my friend James, whose reply was: “If the matrix was real…she would be garbage collected.”

That made the nerd in me giggle.

Attack of the Squirrels, Part 1

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Author: Kara Mae Adamo.

 I have a problem.

In a bizarre cluster of events that I can only attribute to my inevitable bad karma catching up with me, I have become the victim of a vicious furry-tailed attack.

In no more than a month and a half, I have been chased by three squirrels. Squirrels: as in the adorable glorified rats that steal bird seed out of your feeder; skittish little fluffy-tailed things that rarely come near us humanly folk. These furry jerks have it out for me.

Here is a detailed account of my first attack:

The Obese Squirrel at Lover’s Point

In August, I flew out to Monterey, California to see a close friend of mine named Adam. On one of my last mornings there, he took me to a delightful little place in Pacific Grove called The Lighthouse.

In Monterey, it is very common to walk everywhere you go.

So, after we finished with breakfast, Adam and I walked along the rocky coast that spans Pacific Grove and Monterey’s historic Cannery Row. It was on this walk that we stopped at a place called Lover’s Point.

Contrary to what the name would suggest, it is actually not a romantic hideaway. Gorgeous as it may be, the area harshly fringed with jagged rocks is actually set aside as a religious park. The name “Lover’s Point” refers to the love one has for the Lord.

Now, I am by no means religious. That being said,  it was a spiffy place that I’d heard about earlier in the week, so I decided to climb around for a bit.

The entire place was peppered with squirrels. Tourists—in typical tourist fashion—were feeding these furry little things various bits of food. You could tell that these squirrels had grown used to the ritual. They didn’t dart around. They just sat their on their plump little squirrel legs and reached up for whatever random morsel was being presented to them.

These were spoiled squirrels.

Adam let out an audible sigh. “People, don’t feed them!”

I (blissfully naïve at the time) smacked at his arm. “No! Let them feed them—the poor squirrels are hungry!”

We bickered about this for a couple of minutes before I began climbing around on the rocks (my to-go omelet in my hands). So I’m snapping photos with my iPhone and soaking in the last lingering moments of refreshing Pacific Ocean breeze when I realize that a rather plump little furry friend has hopped on over towards me.

Fat and content with life, this squirrel lazily curled himself up on a rock about two feet away from me. Aww, I thought, so cute!! So I took said iPhone and began snapping photos of my new “friend.”

Look at him--just LOOK at him--all fat, furry and menacing.

He turned his head and looked at me.

I took another picture.

His ears bent back.

I took another picture.

He bolted towards me, hopped onto my rock, and darted for my jeans.

I scream.

I leap over the squirrel. Flailing my arms, I jump down the hill and run past Adam.

“We gotta go!”

Adam, confused: “What?”

“Squirrel…squirrel is chasing me!”

“Kara, it’s a squirrel. Kick it.”

“I’m not gonna kick it! He’s fat and he’s chasing me.” I say, marching the hell away from the Jesus-y area that the squirrel quite obviously knew I had no business in.

“See—this is what happens when people feed them, Kara” Adam replies.

“I didn’t feed him!!”

“He wanted your omelet.”

“He can have the freaking omelet!”

So I was chased by an obese and probably religious squirrel at Lover’s Point. Adam still laughs at me.