Dennis Has Left the Building!

At this very moment my best friend of thirty years is driving up the Florida Turnpike in his car with his dog Sophie, all his worldly possession’s, and George Kessingers eighty one year old mother, Lois, on his way to Palm Springs, California. Hopefully Lois is going voluntarily.

This past weekend was Dennis’ farewell tour, starting with our usual Friday evening get together at Georgies Alibi. Only Cher has had a longer farewell tour. Dennis started his about four years ago when he fired up the countdown clock on his computer at work. This was so that everyone he worked with could walk by and see exactly when he was to be released from the bonds of drudgery known as ‘school teacher’.

Saturday he put in a appearance at an invitation only party celebrating the opening of a new club here in town. Dennis probably told himself, "What a wonderful party they’ve thrown for me.".

Finally, on Sunday Mark and I took him out for his farewell dinner at the very, very, expensive and posh restaurant ‘Johhny V’s’ on Los Olas Boulevard in Fort Lauderdale.

There are some aspects of going to an expensive restaurant that I find a little bit too much like work. The foremost being the drinking of a bottle of wine. For seventy five dollars, just pour the wine and don’t make me work for it, I’m already paying for it. They bring the bottle of wine and show you the label, like "See, we really are giving you what you ordered.". Then with great effort and flair the cork is removed and presented to you. What am I supposed to do with that? Take it home as a souvenir? OK, it’s a fine cork. Next they pour about an ounce of the wine into your glass. As the drinkee, I am expected to pick up the glass, check out the color, swirl it around in the glass, put it up to my nose and smell, take a sip, swish it around in my mouth, then look up at the waiter, nod knowingly and pronounce the wine fine. The truth is, if it doesn’t burn my throat or taste like Mogen David, it’ll do.

For our entree, Mark and I both ordered the snapper because Mark had read reviews of the restaurant and they all said "Order the Snapper!". I expected a nice fish plated in the usual ‘foo foo’ restaurant way. I also expected it to taste good, twenty six dollars good. Instead I got a limp tasteless breaded filet of fish draped over a scoop of very ordinary lumpy mashed potatoes. Because of my upbringing in the ‘House of Big Al’, where you were taught to eat everything on your plate and don’t complain, I dutifully ate it. While I was eating mine, Mark picked at and stared at his until he finally called the waiter over and said "I can’t eat this, it’s horrible, bring me some large succulent shrimp for the same price.". "Certainly sir, right away." And he scurried off to the kitchen.

I don’t know why I didn’t think of doing that except as I said ‘The House of Big Al’ taught me to just eat and shut up. At least I had one thing happen to make me feel superior to someone in that restaurant. A woman at the next table knocked over a full glass of water, soaking her and her friends so badly they actually got up and left. Thank god somebody else, and not me was the clutz for a change.