Brew Hoo Hoo

After an hour or so of social torture and angst, we depart for lunch at a local pub.

I am a wreck. This is where poor social graces, madness and alcohol intersect. Or rather, crash into each other. Violently.

We go to the same pub we dined in following  Gray's graduation ceremony. As I walk through the door, with pronounced trepidation, I recall that luncheon. I had been so taken aback by Mom's appearance - she having "tripped on a clam" just hours before and looking like she had just been  fiercely beaten with a ring baloney, and having walked brazenly about the graduation ceremony, proud as a peacock, even as her eyes became more deeply blackened and her lip swelled like a cocktail weenie.

I remember that last year I had  ducked discreetly into the ladies room and quietly texted a few friends about the morning's events. I'd needed moral support. It had been the electronic equivalent of rolling one's eyes at one another at a party. And here we were again. God only knows what the day would bring. So far there had been mild to moderate craziness. We had not gotten into full throttle mode. I could only imagine what was yet to come.

We sit at the table. Mom immediately remarks that Gregory has disappeared (who could blame him?) having been so self absorbed with her social climbing that she failed to pick up on the fact that he has a phone interview for a job on Wall Street and would be arriving late to lunch. She over-reacts when she learns what is afoot. Loudly repeats the story as if there might be someone at a neighboring table who gives a shit. I am sure the other patrons were impressed.

There is a brief discussion that we may just want to order appetizers for now and wait for Gregory. That idea is quickly scrapped as Jack's parents can not linger over a long lunch, but Mom does not hear that decision because she is too busy reading the menu out loud to Bill and making suggestions that he can't hear because his hearing aids are in the glove compartment. She shouts various menu items at him. Apparently leaving your hearing aids in the car also means one can not see sufficiently enough to read one's own menu like a grown up.

I wave down the waitress. We need a drink order at once.

I order a beer. Jack orders a beer. Jack's brother orders a beer. Charlotte orders a Pino Grigio. The kids order sodas. The grandparents order coffee. Except for Mom. She jumps on the beer bandwagon.
I don't know what Bill ordered. He may have missed the question.

The waitress brings the soda and the Pinot. She remarks that the keg kicked as she poured my beer. She served me the half glass (obviously observing that my nerve endings were fraying) and tells me she will bring a full one shortly. She says the same thing to the others who have ordered the same beer. She'll be back with the coffees in a moment.

When she returns and cheerfully places the coffee mugs in front of the grandparents, my mother is indignant. "Excuse me! Miss! Miss! I ordered a beer!" She screeches in a most accusing tone reaching a crescendo on the word "beer."

Yes Mom, you and three other people did. Had you not been dramatically reciting the appetizer list to Bill in a voice that could peel paint, you might have heard her explain that we'd be waiting for a new keg.

The waitress explains the situation as though she were a nurse in a psychiatric facility.  Slowly. Calmly. Hoping to de-escalate the lunatic in her care. We are quickly becoming her favorite table.

I look at her with an expression that yearns for pity. Please serve my mother her beer. But please refill mine first. For the love of God, refill mine first.