Birthday Dinner

We were the only ones there, the last ones there. Their babysitter had run late. All of a sudden, the entire staff was standing beside our booth. A sombrero was placed upon my head and I rolled my eyes and everyone started singing and clapping. The bus boy had a silver tooth and he was smacking some sort of Mexican tambourine high above his head. A shot of bad tequila appeared in front of me. Everyone clapped and smiled and sang and I shook my head and then shot the shot. I winced and then I sucked the lime and then tossed it into the little glass. Then the song was over and our waitress removed the hat from my head and they all walked away and resumed their closing work. We sipped what was left of our drinks and went back to our discussion about the endless suffering of our sick world. "What's the name of that company again?" asked my friend's wife. "Monsanto," I said. "God," she said, "it's just too far gone. There's no way to turn it around. If I didn't have kids, I'd just blow my head off." She then looked over at the wall, at some wooden art piece screwed to the wall. She was always saying things like this. You knew she meant it too. I always found it refreshing. We looked at her and then down at our drinks. My friend bit his lip and nodded as he picked at the label on his beer bottle. A few moments later, the check came and we all reached for it and we laughed.