"I didn't say we don't serve mozzarella sticks, I said we might not have them tonight. I can check if you want."
"What about nachos?"
"We definitely have nachos. Would you like some nachos?"
"I've already had nachos tonight, what are you trying to do to me?"
I take a deep breath. "So, mozzarella sticks, then?"
"Billy?" He turns to the guy next to him. "You'll help me with some mozzarella sticks, right?"
"Frank, you made me eat potato skins with cilantro on them at that last place. These mozzarella sticks had better come with dipping sauce that contains only tomatoes and garlic, and nothing else, or I'm going home to play Jenga with Tabitha."
"Okay, whatever. Where the hell is Scott?"
"Last I saw him he was arguing with a barback about CBGB's."
"This was his idea in the first place, you know?"
I glance down at the other end of the bar, where Kira is hustling to take orders while I wait for these guys. "Hey, fellas, should I put in that order for mozzarella sticks?"
Frank turns back to me. "Yeah, and a couple of beers. Scott can fend for his own damn self."
"Any particular kind of beer?"
Frank scans the taps and the shelf of bottles in a way that makes it pretty obvious he's not actually reading very much. Billy puts a hand on his shoulder and leans toward me. "Do you have Blue Moon?"
"Yes! Blue Moon!" says Frank, and claps his hands.
"Two Blue Moons and an order of mozzarella sticks, coming up."
I stop in at the back room and ask Pat to drop the sticks in the fryer for me, and on my way back I grab the bottles of Blue Moon from the cooler, and pop them on the opener on the back of the bar.
"That's an even twenty, boys."
"For two beers and an appetizer?" Frank sways indignantly as he reaches for his wallet.
I shrug. "Blue Moon's a premium. And we're generous with the mozzarella sticks."
Billy turns to Frank. "Hell, my crappy corn dog a couple of hours ago was six bucks. Nobody said a quest like this would be cheap. But dude, you've had a lot of beer, you can probably switch to the cheap stuff and not even notice."
"No, no, no," Frank replies, handing me $23. "If I drink cheap American beer, the terrorists have won."
"What are you boys questing after?"
"It's not a what, it's a who."
"Okay, whom are you boys questing after?"
Frank takes a drink from his Blue Moon and squints at me. "Are you a Yankees fan?"
"What makes you ask that?"
"The Yankees cap you're wearing."
"No, Sherlock, I mean why do you want to know?"
"Because it would really piss off Sara," Frank says, and Billy laughs, dribbling a little Blue Moon on his shirt, which makes Frank start laughing, too. I use the opportunity to take my leave, and serve some other customers.
A short while later, a third guy approaches them - Scott, I assume - and after they all confer for a minute, they slowly make their way for the exit. I never did learn whom they were questing after, I realize.
I guess I'll never know.
NOTE: I seem to have been just a little too subtle, so I should explain... none of the above actually happened, I made up the whole thing. I just spotted their blog post on Technorati earlier this afternoon and couldn't resist having a little fun with them.