I don't remember how much, Mikan, and it really depends on where you live (as in what country, what city, what town) and what restaurant you go to. (But I assume it's a standard thing in Italian restaurants around the world.
)
Hahaha, JFC, "Flight of the Bumblebee" is perfect for that moment.
These left a warm, fuzzy feeling in my tummy (alcohol?)
Ah, the good kind of warm and fuzzy feeling. No hangover the next morning. (Or is there...? Does fluff leave you with a hangover? Hahaha, I hope not.)
.5 - It Only Gets WorseI later learned that the waiter holding the decanter of wine had tripped on an untied shoelace and had fallen forward and towards me, his hands gripping the decanter tightly, but the contents spilling out all over me.
The wine was slightly chilled, was very dark, and had a strong smell. A small amount went down my back after initially being poured over my shoulders, but the majority spilled down my front, all along my top and right onto my brand new Dolce and Gabbana skirt. As it happened, the world slowed down, and every moment, every breath, became loud and emphasised.
Then everything came to a stop, and all that could be heard was a deafening silence. Even the continuous pitter patter of the rain had seemed to cease in curiosity and anticipation of what was going to happen.
I looked up at the waiter, and all I could do was to stare at him in shock. He looked back, his eyes wide, unable to believe what he had just done. As I studied his expression, I had the urge to stand up and strangle him, but something at the back of my mind told me that if I did that, my name would be dragged through the mud for weeks in papers, magazines, and the internet. So I simply continued to stare at the man - no, boy - who looked like he was about to cry.
"Oh!" he finally yelled out. "I'm so very sorry! So
so sorry! Please forgive my heinous act!"
He put the decanter down on an empty neighbouring table and took out a cloth that was somehow magically folded neatly into his apron. He was about to start wiping the front of my shirt when he gave it a second thought and handed me the cloth with a blush. I was in such shock, though, that he could have started administering artificial respiration to me and I wouldn't have noticed. I took the cloth and stared across the table. Rika had an expression of surprise and horror on her face. Shibata's mirrored Rika's. I looked at Miki. She was sitting there with an interested expression on her face, a faint trace of a smile on her lips. So much for her support.
I waved the waiter away and started to dab at the wine. Two waitresses came scurrying out and helped me. The manager of the restaurant also came out and apologised, saying that our meal would be free of charge. Rika handled all the talking and the thanking.
I still felt like killing the waiter.
Once the fiasco had lost some of its charge, I addressed the three girls.
"If you'll excuse me early, I'll go home and change."
Shibata and Rika clucked sympathetically. Miki cracked a joke about my smelling like an alcoholic and how I should try to fashion a new public image for myself using this event. I ignored her and stood up, and she quickly fell in line, standing up with me.
"I'll go with you," she said by way of explanation to the girls.
"No, that's all right," I said sourly, gathering my things. "I can find my way."
"No, no. I'll help. You can't walk down the street alone looking like that," she insisted, pointing at the mess down the front of my body.
It didn't really make a difference if I was alone or not, but I rarely genuinely refused a chance to spend more time with Miki. I knew that if anybody could cheer me up (or distract me from my misery by annoying me), it was her. I nodded at her to give her permission to escort me home.
"Sorry to cut this so short," I said to the girls sitting at the table.
Shibata waved me off.
"Don't worry," she said. "My mother's coming by my place in a few hours anyway. I would have had to leave early myself."
"You mean you're going to ditch me early?" Rika butted in.
"Well, you can come along if you want," Shibata said with a sigh.
"I think I will," Rika pouted stubbornly.
Shibata rolled her eyes.
"You have to get yourself a boyfriend so that you stop hanging around me all the time," she muttered.
I giggled inside. Rika had plenty of boyfriends. She was a tease, but an innocent one. She would make friends with all sorts of men around her, have them fall in love with and confess to her, and then tell them that she wasn't interested that way. She didn't do this on purpose, though. She was just acting her friendly self. The men were the ones fooling themselves. Part of the reason why it happened was because the "love of her life" had left her a year ago, and she was still reeling from that dark and sleazy episode. Perhaps some part of her turned up the friendliness vibe in an honest attempt to find that one perfect mate. She was just very bad at choosing one person. She didn't know what she wanted, which was an anomalous quality of hers, being a very confident and smart girl. In that way, she was very similar to Miki. On the outside she was one thing, but on the inside, one could see the inconsistencies that made that her even more interesting.
I found myself smiling in amusement, wine forgotten. I tuned in to see Shibata and Rika looking at me.
"Um, we'll continue this later," I said quickly. "See you!"
Shibata and Rika echoed their goodbyes while I tugged an unheeding Miki's hand.
Just before I got out of hearing range, I heard Rika say to Shibata in a low tone, "What's up with those two? Do they
really go everywhere together?"
I could imagine what Shibata was thinking.
"When fate introduces Dumb to Dumber, you've got to let it take its course and not question it."
The words "kill" and "Shiba-chan" came to mind instantly. I was about to turn around and go give her a piece of my mind when Miki took a firm hold of my arm and forced me to keep walking. She must have heard, too, and I was instantly grateful that she was there to keep my head on straight. We made it to the front of the restaurant without any outbursts, but I kept wondering which one of us Shibata thought was Dumb and which one she thought was Dumber.
It better have been a joke, I thought darkly.
It was still pouring rain outside, so we had the hostess call a taxi. The manager came out and apologised again. I gave him the obligatory "it's quite all right" responses. I felt a little sorry for the waiter. He was probably going to get punished severely. I felt sorry for myself, too, because now the skirt I'd worn twice before today was destroyed.
The taxi came, and Miki and I ran out with our one umbrella. When we got into the cab, the smell of wine was overpoweringly apparent.
"Oh no," the driver said before he could bid us good afternoon. "No drunks before six in the evening. Personal rule. Out."
My jaw dropped open.
"What?" Miki asked in a cold tone. "We're not drunk."
"Out," the driver repeated stonily, turning the engine off to make a statement.
Never before in my life had I ever met or heard of a taxi driver that had refused to take a decent, sober, and quiet couple of people in his cab. Never. Out of pure shock, we got out and ran back to the restaurant. The hostess was surprised to see us again, and we asked her to call us another taxi. She did so with a confused look on her face.
A few minutes later, our new cab arrived. We got in. The driver was a friendly-looking middle-aged man with greying hair. He took one breath to greet us, and he started hacking and coughing.
"Oh, I'm sorry, but I'm terribly sensitive to strong smells," he wheezed between laboured breaths punctuated by raspy coughs.
What a silly idea to become a cab driver, then! I thought, but I felt sorry for him because he looked like he was on his death bed.
We apologised and ran back to the restaurant. When the hostess saw us again, she didn't react. We asked her to call us another cab. She dialled the number and waited... and waited and waited. She hung up and dialled again. She waited even for an even longer time. She looked up another number in her book and dialled it, waiting and waiting and waiting. She repeated this several times. Finally, she closed her book.
"They seem to all be tied up at the moment," she informed us.
"How can all the cab companies in the city be busy?" I huffed out.
Of course the answers were simple. There were two. One was that it was raining, so of course more people would be willing to spend a little more money for the convenience and comfort of staying dry. The other reason was that Miki and I were currently trapped in the worst day we had ever spent together. Not even that frustrating day and night with her mother a few months ago could top this disaster. And it wasn't even two in the afternoon yet!
With a sigh and a "thanks" to the hostess, I grabbed Miki's hand and pulled her out of the restaurant.
"What-" she started.
"We're walking to the station."
I didn't know what station was nearby, but we'd find it in due course.
I opened the umbrella and raised it over us as we stepped out once again into the thunderstorm. We became soaked in an instant. The umbrella was far too small for two people, even two people like us who were pressed up to each other, hip-to-hip.
"This is the worst day ever!" I exclaimed over the sound of heavy raindrops hitting our protective cover.
"It could be worse," Miki laughed, trying to remain optimistic.
Just then, a car sped by, and a sheet of water went spraying towards us. Since Miki happened to be on the side closest to the curb, she bore the brunt of the hit. Her hand grabbed my arm, her fingers digging deep into me.
"I hate the world," she growled through clench teeth.
The world became even more of a grim place because we got lost. For forty minutes we wandered around until we found a familiar street. We were practically back at my apartment, so we decided to walk the rest of the way. We barely uttered three words to each other the whole way. We simply clung onto each other in our moment of misery, praying that our wallets and cell phones weren't completely ruined.
We overcame many obstacles during our walk. There were plenty of cars willing to spray us with water, but none that would stop and offer us a ride. There were puddles that were so wide that we had no choice but to slosh through them. There was also plenty of wind to flip our umbrella inside out several times. By the last fifteen minutes of the walk, I'd closed the umbrella since it wasn't doing anything to keep us dry in this typhoon-like weather.
By some miracle, we made it into my apartment alive, not struck by lightning, and not drowned. It had taken fifty-five minutes to walk from the restaurant. We took our shoes off at the entrance, and then after thinking about it, we also took most of our clothes off. I didn't want water being tracked around my place.
I ran in quickly and went to the closet in my room where I kept old, spare towels since the closet near the entrance was empty of towels. (Earlier in the morning, I'd settled for re-using Miki's towel instead of running into my room, but it would do us no good since it was still wet.)
I started to swear as we dried ourselves off and went to change into some comfortable clothes for lounging around the house.
"What's wrong?" Miki groaned, not wanting to hear what terrible thing we'd forgotten to do that would have us going outside again.
"My clothes are still hanging outside," I grumbled.
It was no doubt all wet again. We both shared a sigh, and Miki went over to my couch and fell on top of it on her back.
"What else have we got on the agenda today?" she asked.
"Laundry." I said, thinking of the pile of clothes we'd just shed.
I left Miki in the living room and went back to the entrance to find my phone and wallet. Luckily, they were both intact. I then took a closer look at my skirt. Stained. Ruined. I'd try and see if the dry cleaner could fix it, but I had a feeling I'd worn that skirt for the third and last time.
Miki came up behind me silently. I didn't notice her until she crouched down beside me, putting her head over my arm and looking at the skirt.
"Ruined?" she asked.
I nodded when she looked up at me with a sad face. No matter how much joking and lambasting went on between us, she really did care.
"You think the dry cleaners can save it?"
"Maybe," I mumbled.
"Well, at least the jug didn't fall on you and hurt you, right? At least you're okay, right?"
Her words, voiced sweetly, were like a hand stroking my hair comfortingly. Like a warm hug. Like a sparkling, caring smile. I forgot all about the skirt as I felt myself fall one more metre into that well of happy, mushy fluff and love. I sat there pretending to inspect the damage done to my clothes, but in reality, all I wanted was to extend that moment. Miki continued to crouch down beside me, watching my face as I trained my eyes on my skirt. Finally, I put the skirt down and was about to turn and thank her when the room lit up in an unnervingly bright way. The event was followed quickly by an explosion of thunder that quite literally shook my walls and doors.
What followed was silence and darkness.
Topic: 10 x 2 + ∞ Chapters of Pointless, Plotless Fluff (Read 33663 times)