Bad Lighting and Cheap Wine

I do not see the resemblance between my father and George Clooney. I hope I never see it because right now, I enjoy ER. Even when I squint and tilt my head just a little bit this way . . . nope, don't see it. Although I have to admit, the lighting in here works to his advantage. Can they not afford more than 40 watt bulbs? At $21.95 for chicken alfredo this whole damn place should be brighter than the surface of the sun. They must get a lot of blind daters - people drawn here specifically for the bad lighting and overpriced domestic wine selection.

"Here's to my little angel, may it not take her another twenty-one years to realize no one she can pick up in a bar is worth the price of a beer." Dad raises his glass of merlot above the plastic grapes with twinkle lights that adorn the center of our table.

"Ah, gee, Daddy, that's encouraging." We clink glasses and take a swig of our vino. A waitress walks by, two slightly sweaty people trailing behind her, smiling nervously. Daddy's eyes linger on the waitress's ass as she walks away. Oye, the man has a receding hairline for Christ's sake!

"And have we decided here? Perhaps you'd like to hear the specials for this evening?" Julius, according to the large nametag adhered to his breast pocket, stood poised at the head of our table, eager to recite the specials du jour. He has to be at least twelve feet tall. Even when I crane my neck all the way back all I can see is his big, toothy grin with two cavernous nostrils hovering just above it.

Daddy is still watching the waitress but his lack of interest does nothing to dispel Julius' ass-kissing energy. "We have a lovely chicken scampi served over angel hair pasta as well as the chef's special lobster ravioli - they're simply to die for! I would highly recommend them, they're the best! And for such a lovely couple on what appears to be a special evening the best would seem appropriate."

Now Daddy's paying attention. He slouchs back in his chair, donning his best George Clooney grin. I feel slightly ill. Turning to Julius, I address his belt buckle, "Oh no, we're not. . ."

"Now, now, don't interrupt the young man." Daddy turns to Julius, who now has a sparkly silver pen hovering over his order pad. "It's Joann's twenty-first birthday today. Do you sing 'Happy Birthday' here?"

"Well of course we do! Buon cumpleanno, signorina!" He says it like a giant white man. Dad laughs a hearty fake laugh. I wrinkle my nose. If Julius tells Dad he looks young, it's over. He'll be unbearable for the rest of the night. I just want to order my freaking lobster ravioli so Lurch will go away.

"I must say, sir; you bear a striking resemblance to that actor from Ocean's 11." Oh, shit, here we go.

"Oh, well, now I wouldn't say striking resemblance, but yes, I am told I have features similar to George Clooney." My dad is on cloud nine. At Julius' loud reference to a celebrity look alike the waitress Dad had been ogling turns around. She's smiling wryly at my father. I should not have to watch this on my birthday.

Julius' grin turns into a frown. He seems to be contemplating Dad's response, although without a visual of the upper half of his face it's hard to judge. "No, no not George Clooney."

Dad's smug smile falters. "Brad Pitt? I've never gotten that one before!" Damn, he recovers quickly. Did he just wink at that waitress? Kill me now.

"Mm, mm," Julius shakes his head, "not him either. What's the guy's name that gives them the money for the job? You know, the guy who played Ross and Monica's dad on Friends? The old guy?"

The waitress exhales abruptly through her nose, returning her attention to the table she's attending. Daddy's face drops and I totally see the resemblance! He gapes at Julius, shocked and defeated, before rising from the table muttering, "Goddamn punks, think they know everything. . ."

Julius is horrified, or at least his mouth and nostrils were. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to offend anyone . . . I just . . . I wrecked your birthday!"

"Oh, no, on the contrary, Julius, you gave me exactly what I wished for." Slipping into my jacket, I pull a twenty out of my pocket and toss it on the table for the befuddled Julius. Whistling the theme to Friends I saunter out of the restaurant, admiring the lighting as I go.