Hops
 

I am a humorist, finding humor in most things known to mankind. Yes, it was I who giggled at a friend’s funeral. So with that being said, humor me.

One evening my wife and I took our 27 year old daughter and her friend to a Hops Restaurant in Ocala. Now I liked Hops, a lot, then they closed and now I know why.

We ordered a round of four delightful micro brews. Here in horse country they named these dark roasted beers Hammerhead Red. Coincidentally, in New England, a noted seafood lovers paradise, this very same beer was called Thoroughbred Red. The things that make you go “hmmmmm”.

Meanwhile, back to the event! The server (I guess it’s a faux pas to call her a waitress) brings all four at once, an admirable feat were it not coupled with what followed. As she delivered glass #3 to the table, she knocked over the remaining goblet, directly in to my daughter’s friend’s lap.

These weren’t the cutesy little 12 oz mugs, oh no, these babies were the monsters of the midway, 23 oz of amber liquid, that gravity forced on to her lap.

We’re all easy going people, each of us having been a “server” at one time or another. After the initial shock wore off, apologies rendered and the required dabbing of the poor victim’s lap, the server offered to replenish said drink, to which the now beer-soaked young lady replied, “no thanks, I’ll just have a water”.

Interestingly, at the time, we never saw our server again, instead she was replaced by another server.

The rest of the meal was uneventful, sort of.

When the bill came, I noted the four beers were on there. I inquired to our new server who shrugged and said “you had those before I became your server.” I, of course, explained what happened and she said I’d have to take it up with the manager. I then asked to see him and was told he had left for the night. I asked to see our original server, and was told she left with the manager. Really? I mean REALLY? “Well who’s in charge?”, said the now increasingly agitated customer! My server just shrugged. (shrugging is apparently a new wave communication that I’ve yet to master.)

I mean the bill was amplified only by the cost of the beer, $3.50, so it wasn’t such a financial burden, unlike my daughter! I was once the manager of a restaurant, and, frankly, we would have probably comped the entire table, but in any case, the victim’s dinner and dry cleaning bill.

Firing off a letter to corporate really worked, they went out of business two weeks later. I like to think I was the catalyst for that but alas, I just miss my Hammerhead/Thoroughbred Red.

"Hops" you have better luck next time.

:shrug: (Whatever that means.)

I thought that sort of thing only happened to me. Oh the stories I could tell and if I had your talent for writing I probably would.