Monday, January 16, 2006

The Dahmer ... err ... Dinner Party

There I was, just settling in to dinner with my new boss and his wife. We were sitting in a booth at one of those upscale steak houses. You know the kind of place I'm talking about -- Thirty five bucks for a steak, sides extra, lots of dark wood and leather, bla bla bla... Things were going well. I was nervous going in, but my boss and I had a couple of martinis before dinner and that really took the edge off. So I'm sitting there, enjoying the bit of a buzz I had on, listening to the soft music coming from the overhead speakers. It was some casual background piano-jazz. George Winston or maybe even the mellower side of Lionel Hampton. I think you know what I'm talking about. It was in that moment, when I was in my most relaxed state of the evening, that I heard it. It was the voice of the maitre 'd coming from the front of the restaurant...

"Yes Mr. McDougal, your table for 27 is ready. Right this way please."

My blood ran cold. Oh God, no ... Not here. Not now.

Now let me explain. McDougal and I are good friends. Great friends. The best. Hell, he saved my life back in the First Gulf War. He was nothing but understanding back in college when I knocked up his fourteen year old sister. But my boss ... My boss is a Square. He wouldn't dig McDougal's style. And I needed this job. More than I've ever needed a job in my life. It's not often that a guy with my checkered employment history gets the opportunity to bring in six figures.

My boss and his wife, meanwhile, continued on with the pleasant conversation. They didn't see any reason to be alarmed. Why would they? I, on the other hand, had already sweated right through my shirt and saddle bags were working their way through my jacket. I kept nodding my head and smiling as, out of the corner of my eye, I watched McDougal and his entourage work their way back to their table. It would only be a matter of time before the big man noticed me sitting here and rushed over to greet me, or maybe "introduce himself" to my boss's wife. Jesus ... Was that a dwarf? McDougal brought a dwarf to the steakhouse. If he had time to pick up that damn dwarf on the way over, it meant he had dipped into the loose pills before even getting into his limo.

McDougal was seated at the head of a long table immediately behind my boss and his wife, which meant that they couldn't see him, but I was afforded a clear line of sight. As he slowly lowered his massive frame into the groaning chair, his entourage gazed at him with a mixture of adoration and expectation. This was going to be bad. McDougal was planning on putting on a show that night, and they all knew it. McDougal ordered two bottles of wine for everyone at his table then reached into his pocket and pulled out one of those tin cans full of breathmints. Oh fuck. The mint can...

A couple of years ago, McDougal hit on the mint can idea. At the time, I thought it was brilliant. You could take a can of those mints, available at any drug store, and put a drop of high-octane LSD on each one. The Squares wouldn't think twice about a guy popping breath mints. At least, not until he opened up his umbrella to keep the ceiling from dripping on him. It worked too. No one in the restaurant gave it a second glance at McDougal passed it around his table.

The drugs took effect on the dwarf first, on account of his low body weight. He crawled up onto the table and stuffed a roll down his pants. Then he took off his shirt and began rubbing butter on his bare chest. It was much worse than I thought. McDougal must have run out of mints. Sometimes when he runs out of mints, he will drop the LSD onto tablets of ecstasy. I was hoping that a waiter would put an end to this, but the waitstaff just cowered against the wall, too intimidated by McDougal to act. Finally, one brave waiter ventured over.

"Ah, good," McDougal shouted jovially, "We've been trying to order forever!"

They hadn't even gotten menus yet.

McDougal's mood began to sour as the waiter continually shook his head, refusing to take his order to the chef. McDougal was attempting to order a bizarre litany of entrees. Endangered species, construction materials, inert gases, mythical creatures ... Finally he named something that seemed to ease the waiter's suffering. The poor waiter ran off to the kitchen, only to slink back moments later, obviously bearing bad news. By this time all conversation in the restaurant had ceased, so I was able to hear him clearly.

"I'm sorry sir... The chef says that he cannot serve you Long Pork."

McDougal sat for a moment, watching the dwarf, who was now standing on the table juggling several open wine bottles, which sprayed arcs of liquid across the restaurant. McDougal stood up slowly, then slammed his fists down onto the table, letting out an enraged bellow. This caused the dwarf to topple over and lose his grip on one of the bottles, which struck a nearby diner in the temple, knocking him unconscious. I took this opportunity to lean in and whisper to my boss.
"Maybe we should go..."

But the poor man was frozen with shock. I thought briefly of leaving without him, but if McDougal decided to kill everyone in the place (entirely possible) I might be the only person who could convince him to spare the lives of my boss and his wife. That would look really good on my quarterly evaluation. McDougal, meanwhile, attempting to prove some point to the terrified waiter, had unhinged his jaw, snakelike, and was busy swallowing a large silver centerpiece.

Unable to prove his point, McDougal finally pushed the waiter aside and marched into the kitchen. We regular restaurant patrons sat in horror as the most awful noises emanated from the kitchen for a full fifteen minutes. McDougal's entourage, without their hero to gaze upon, began engaging in various deviant sex acts on, under and around the table. Finally McDougal emerged from the kitchen.

"Come on," he roared to his minions, "we're out of here. These idiots know nothing of fine cuisine."

As McDougal marched out he glanced over and gave me the tiniest nod of recognition. I had no idea what to make of this until a few weeks later, when I ran into the big man at the grocery store.

"So... Uh, I saw you at the steak place the other day," I said, somewhat sheepishly.

"Oh yeah," he replied, "I would have come over and said hi, but those people you were with looked like real assholes. I was afraid they might want to sit with us and ruin my trip."

McDougal and I shared a good laugh over this. That night his Cambodian Death Squad killed my boss, his wife and the two Pomeranians she thought of as her children.

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