Saturday, June 09, 2007
French people remind me of a 16 year old girl with a fake i.d. at Bobby McGee's. Fred and I tried to enjoy our lunch over the roar of the blender motor while the poor barman mixed up every frozen fruity drink on the menu for the table of six (adults) next to us; of course, first he had to use the electric juicer to grind out a full pitcher of fresh squeezed orange juice, apparently the base ingredient for each of these tropical refreshers. When I was a cocktail waitress, I used to dread approaching the bartender with orders such as: 1 strawberry margarita, 1 strawberry daiquiri, 1 banana daiquiri, and 1 piña colada. I was usually sent back to the table to recheck their licenses and with the unfortunate news that our blender had just broken.