A fucking straw!
Going back a few years now - when I was 10 to be precise - my dad took me and my brother on 'the big trip' of our lifetimes. A three week trip around the US. Though initially suffering from an irrational fear of being swallowed up by the ground in a freak earthquake I conquered my dubious fears and decided to go.

So, around we went. Youth hostelling from new york to san francisco to la, all was great. The biggest language barrier was being called 'bubsy' by a suspiciously large number of people.

Then we came to Arizona. In this place British is not cute, British is alien. So, deciding to brave the truckers we went to a big ol' burger joint.

Happily munching away at my cow-on-a-plate I realise I need a straw in order to reach the 3 litres of coke that the waitress just filled my field of vision with. So off I pop to ask someone.

I approach a woman who looks like victim no.1 from a 50s B movie... and so it starts:

Me: Excuse me, do you have a straw, please?
Waitress: A streer? What's a streer, bubsy?
Me: A straw?
Waitress: A strour?
Me: Straw.
Waitress: Stroor?
Me: Straw. A straw. *makes sucking drink action*
Waitress: Oh! A straw! Sure thing, I'll bring one to your table.

So, five minutes later, I see her approaching. Oh good, thinks I, I can finally have some drink. I stare ahead in that awkward way you do when a waitress is approaching from over your shoulder, expecting a hand to reach over and put a straw down next to me.

Nothing.

I keep staring ahead, fully aware that the second I decide to look to my right she'll be there and I'll get a face full of waitress. Eventually I hear clicks from my left. I turn to look and...what the fuck is this? She's setting up a high-chair. A fucking high chair.

Excuse me, I say. I asked for a straw?
Yeah, a high-chair.
No, I'm sorry - a straw.
Yeah, a high-chair.
Ok, thanks! *gives up*

In the end we just finished our meal with an empty high-chair and child's place set at the table. People looked in horror assuming we'd been too busy eating to bother fetching our baby which was by now probably crawling its way across death valley.

I never did get my straw. Or figure out how she managed to get high-chair from straw.
(thisismyclone, Wed 12 Oct 2005, 15:21, Reply)