Yep, we're back...
One quick story, and I'm headed to sleep. You'll see more about the Bahamas in the days to come.
They roll up the sidewalks pretty early in the Bahamas. Despite Friday night's enormous Mardi Gras-esque festival (Jaganoo? Djiridoo? Budokhan? Something like that), and Saturday's crush of tourists swamping the casino, it's nearly impossible to find more than one bar willing to pour you a drink after 1230AM.
Of course, if anyone can find that bar,
Al can.
So the whole filthy lot of us have just caught Otis getting off shift and have moved our party a good half mile from the Beach Towers lobby bar (near the tournament ballroom) to the Atlas Sports Bar, which is in the heart of the casino, an interminably long walk away. One by one the hot girls in mini-skirts and the guys spending way too much on them to try to get laid are peeling out of the bar, and it doesn't take too long for last call, 3AM, and a nearly empty bar to be our atmosphere.
It's obvious that they want us to go at this point, but we're not budging. As a result, the busser politely asks if it would be okay to set the table before he leaves for the night.
And then? It's just the five of us.
Well, the four of us and what was left of the good sense of Al Can't Hang.
As soon as the busser leaves the restaurant, and it's obvious we're alone, G-Rob makes the motions as if he's going to pocket the silverware for later. I pipe in with, "I like to rub the butter knives on my balls when they leave." Al grabs a knife off the table and says, "Me too."
"Al, come on..." I'm really disgusted by this, having worked in restaurants for years, and having heard and witnessed countless horror stories before. "It's funnier said than done, really."
"I'm gonna do it." Al's holding the knife out like Arthur with Excalibur, the maniacal gleam in his eye guaranteeing we're about to see something egregiously wrong.
And we did. With a yank of the waistband, he thrust the butter knife inside his pants and started swabbing it around. I don't remember if his wife was laughing or not, but Otis and G-Rob lost it. I was growing pale by the second, and promised myself at that moment I'd never use silverware I couldn't boil on my own beforehand again.
Otis passed the final verdict. "He proved you wrong BG. In this case? It was funnier done than said."