Dinner Drinks

It wasn’t working -- the dinner audience hadn’t laughed at any of his jokes except the one about his ditzy neighbor and you’d have to be dead not to laugh at her. And speaking about dead ... I’ve lost my touch. It’s time to bring down the curtain.

He finished his routine and went off the stage, down the stairs in the back, along the side of the crowd, and straight up to the bar. “Hey Tommy,” said the bartender. “The usual?”

“Yeah, Mac,” said Tommy, sitting down, “no sense in pouring good money after bad.” He wanted to laugh, but even he didn’t think his jokes were funny anymore. Mac brought his drink, and Tommy turned so that he could see the audience. How could they be having such a good time when his life was the pits?

Several people were dancing, but most of the crowd were having dinner and drinks. The orchestra was playing some slow jazz number, and Tommy wished he had a dame he could cuddle up with and do the quiet-move-to-the-soft-song thing.

He sucked on his drink and watched the maitre d’ escort a young couple to their table. He tried to remember, later, how the whole thing happened. To start with, the couple had lagged behind just a bit, with the woman saying something over her shoulder to the man. When she looked back around, she accidentally collided with a waiter who was taking two beers and a bowl of shelled, hard-boiled eggs to another table.

The waiter rescued both beers, but the three eggs went slow-motion flying -- one of them falling into the open, laughing mouth of a young gentleman with a Grecian nose and dark hair. The sudden cessation of breath caused him to jerk upright and start coughing which ejected the egg onto the tie of one of his companions, where it promptly swanned back toward the table and into a bowl of garlic mashed potatoes, thereby disgusting their fellow tablemates.

The second egg landed in a full champagne glass, gaily displacing the bubbly liquid all over the hair and face of the here-to-fore perfectly arranged, but now supremely startled, blonde who held the glass to her lips. Her escort heroically produced the requisite handkerchief without moving a single facial muscle.

And the third egg -- it soared expertly through a perfect arc to plunge into the deeply revealing bosom of an operatic-looking matron where it deftly slithered from one precipitous crevice to another as several gentlemen, trying to assist the lady in need, made gallant grabs for the slippery, slimy ball ... much to the lady’s mortification.

After several minutes of total pandemonium, things finally started to quiet down and Tommy tossed down the last of his drink. He arose, chuckling, and started for the door as Mac called out, “So long, Tommy, see ya tomorrow.”

“Sure, Mac,” Tommy said, still chuckling. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”