The best gyro place I’ve ever found to date, including supposed authentic joints, happens to be a pizza joint in our little burble on the map. Rotisserie lamb on the spit all the time, owned by Greek folks, you’d never know it from the name. So, my bride and I decided to stroll downtown to partake.
Evidently we missed the memo, it was Pub Crawl night. Hundreds of half- to fully lit people overflowing the doors of pubs onto the downtown sidewalks.
Onward we went parting the drunken seas to our destination.
Once inside I heard my wife say…
“Those to ought to get a room someplace.”
It started out with this chick reaching across the table groping the ‘stache and beard of her date’s face with the glee of Capt’n Blackbeard fondling freshly stolen gold booty.
Next thing we knew, he’s around her side of the table, necks twisting, curling, and lips guppy puckered hoping for a little more right there in the booth.
Soon, he’s got her smunched up against the wall and all that’s visible is a mass of swishing girlie hair mopping the wall.
And here’s where it went really bad for the dude, his pub crawl turned wiener shrink in just minutes.
He must have come up for air or something. ‘Cause when he backed off, her head slumped forward… passed out.
There he is patting her face trying to revive her and hopes for Mr. Happy at the same time.
So the waiter comes by with the pizza they ordered. He’s looking at it like, “What the hell am I going to do with it now?”
We heard the waiter say, “Oh so you just want it boxed dup? Sure I can do that. Best of luck to you man.”
The dude sits there a while with his boxed pizza and date passed out across the table.
What to do… what to do… So he opens the box and starts chomping. I suppose he was figuring if he waited long enough she’d come around. Worse case, he’d eat the pizza, then he’d only have to carry her out of the place.
I told my wife, that stall ain’t going to wash. She’s about 15-minutes into an all-night sleepoff, and he better not hope she wakes or whatever she’s got in her will be all over the floor in minutes.
I really wanted to stay to see how this dude managed, but our gyro was in the hatch and we were ready to roll.
By the time we left the dude was sitting with his head in his hands contemplating his next move, and waiter with a rolling eye smirk with every walk -by. Maybe he just grabbed the pizza and left her there. He didn’t look none too happy, his “got lucky” night gone whiskey sour and all.
This poor dude had himself in a jam like some songwriters can get. Good intentions gone awry when it came to other people’s attention. They stay too long in their own head and don’t think of how it will play out real-time.
Lyrics leaving a listener asleep across the table like this dude’s chick on drunken pizza, Pub Crawl night, and the writer with head in hands trying to figure out what went wrong.
Thankfully, a technique discussed in great detail in the next TuneBooster outlines one way to keep your listener upright and alert.
April’s is still up, which is more than that poor dude’s expectations with his date. Get it at https://www.tunesmithtips.com/newsletter/