The Master Race

As we head toward the Mexican restaurant to meet my sister and brother-in-law, my mother and Jack (separated at birth) are into another mutually agreed upon tirade about taxes and illegal immigration. It’s not that I disagree with their views, but I’m tired of the conversation, so I ask that they not be too upset about the language barrier in the restaurant. Jack is also yelling about the Sun (you know, that bright planet that warms us, and a thumb that is hurting). Minutes before, he has gone ballistic when I want to find my sunglass attachments because of my light-sensitive eyes. “I would have taken a shower if I’d known we were going to spend time looking for your sunglasses!” I assure him that this makes no sense whatsoever. German Jack’s version of dining is as follows: sit down, order water and your meal, eat it, leave. My sister’s version, and mine is much more Irish: order your drinks, order your meal, order more drinks, eat and drink, talk and be merry, order more drinks.

VERBOTEN!!

I tell Jack that I would be eternally grateful if he would order an alcoholic beverage of any kind for himself. I whisper to my sister that I honestly believe I would drink less if he would only drink more. Totally out of character, he orders a margarita. Thank you sweet Jesus!

Mom has a margarita. She has a two drink maximum before she starts to sing soprano in public. She is insisting that I listen to the details of her funeral plans. She thinks all of the expenses are covered but she's not sure about the digging of the grave. I tell her as nicely as I can that this subject is a real buzz kill, but she replies that I need to know the details. (I'd prefer that she sing.) I finish off my first glass of wine and have another with dinner. Later, Jennifer whispers, “We want another margarita. Why don’t you have another drink and ride home with us?”

I say, “Jack, they’re going to have another drink. What do you think?”

“Asta la vista,” he says and asks for the check. I share a disappointed glance with my sister. Then he starts to point around the table declaring what every person had to drink. This is his way of helping the waiter determine how to split the check. Funny thing is that his method of ordering has usually left the two of us with six cups of coffee to go in a drive-through: “That will be two cups of coffee, one with cream, one without; that will be two cups, yes two cups with and without, yes two more cups…” And I get the feeling that the waiter isn't sure if he's ordering or informing.

The waiter comes back with a full round for everyone. (Sometimes I love that language barrier.) Hilarious! Jack looks at the bill and then at me, “You had three glasses of wine?!” he exclaims.

“You ordered it,” I answer as we all clink glasses. Fun for all, except maybe the German.