Last night was our company outing. Almost exactly like last year's. This time, though, in addition to the batting cages, booths for henna tatoos, caricatures, psychic readings, and green-screen photographs, they had a wine bar. There had to be sixty bottles of wine opened and waiting for us. They were serving the wine in the giant red cups you find at beruit tournaments, full.
But, nobody was drinking any wine, since, after all, it's ballpark themed, there are burgers, hot dogs, fries, cheeseburgers, and giant pretzels everywhere, and free beer; people were drinking the beer. Not the wine.
So, at the end of the night at last call, when there were still fifty open bottles of wine sitting full on the table of the wine station, I asked for one. Bottle.
"Hey, excuse me," I called over the ridiculously loud DJed music, "can I get a bottle?"
"A bottle?"
"Yes."
"Um...empty, or full?"
Hmm.
"Full."
So he gave me one. Sweet, right?
Anyway, I was pretty drunk on free beer at that point of the night so I'm not really sure what happened to the full bottle of chardonay I was carrying. I know I didn't bring it home on the train, and I had some difficulties sneaking it into the after-party bar. But the point wasn't to drink it, it was to ask for it in the first place.
-t
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