Me: I'm unemployed.
Stew: Me too! We should go somewhere and celebrate!
And so we did; Providence R.I.
Stew had never been there, and she wanted to see it. [sidenote: I mean Susan, but we've been calling her Stew since highschool... also Stewsan. They're used interchangeably with her real name. I think Jen started it.]
We didn't really look at a map, but you don't actually need to to get to Providence from here. You get on I-95 North, and get off in Providence. First stop was Urban Kitchen where we split what I am awarding the "Worst Pizza I Have Ever Eaten" award. The crust was flat, the pepperoni was weird, the sauce was old and the cheese was oily and thick. I'm not exaggerating even a little bit.
Sue had wanted to sit in a window, so we did, and this old guy comes in and comes right up to our table. (Ok, he's not really old, he's 60-ish, so we're talking dirty old man, not charming elderly gentleman) This guy was short, fat and wrinkled, and had on a skin tight, dirty white tee shirt. He was working the crazy old man hair as he fixed his leer directly at Stew.
"Do you have a map?" he wanted to know.
"Pardon?" I asked.
Stew doesn't really like to talk to strangers, and never has, so I automatically snapped into my over-ballsy, take charge of the situation mode. In otherwords, "Come any closer and I'll kick your ass, mister. We don't know you, but I'm not afraid of you."
"Do you have a map?" he asked again, gazing at Sue in a way that would make Friday night's strippers uncomfortable. "Because I just got lost in your eyes."
He walked out before we could say anything else, but he looked back through the window as he was walking to see our reactions; I gave him my best pissy face. Then I looked at Sue, and fell apart laughing.
"Where was my great comeback line when I needed it?!" she said, gasping, when we finally pulled it together. "I should have said 'You must have taken a wrong turn!'"
We walked around for a while, and Sue began to feel queasy. Up the road we found a great coffee shop, because I recommended green tea to soothe her stomach. Half an hour later, Sue was feeling really sick. We think it must have been from the pizza (but maybe it was the old man). She bought some Pepto Bismol, and we sat outside for a while. She decided she was definitely going to hurl, so we walked into a bar.
She beelined to the bathroom and I sat down at the bar and ordered a diet coke, telling the bar tender "She doesn't feel well." Five minutes later she wasn't back, so I went to check on her. "There's nothing like sitting on the floor of a bathroom in a bar about to throw up and thinking about all the other people who have sat here throwing up." Even green this girl has a killer sense of humor. I left her there.
"We're gonna be awhile" I told the bar tender. "I'll have a Heineken."
I chatted with all the guys at the bar; one guy asked me where I was from, and told me that he used to go to school in Avon, CT and play Trumbull High in football. I teased them all for being Red Sox fans.
The bartender, ("Chah-lee. I'm named after my dad!") who I will award "Cutest Italian Muscle-bound Meathead Hottie I've Ever Seen" was like "aw, you're just bitter because we're the world camps now!"
I told him his team just sucked for 86 years (I'm not that clever, I saw it on a tee shirt).
Eventually Sue came out, and he made her a flat coke because "Moms always used to make me flat coke for my upset tummy. It works!" We did shots of something chocolately that he made us ("Women like chocolate, right? Well, here ya go!"), and Sue felt better. He told us where we SHOULD have eaten. Lesson learned: If you're going to a new city, find a local bar first, make friends with the bar tender, and he'll tell you where to go from there (he might even give you free shots if you are as cute as me and Stewsan). Also: Heineken and flat coke will make your stomach better. Charlie says so.
Me: I'm unemployed.