“So that’s everyone’s order then,” said the server after rattling off the entrees, looking around the table but stopping short of Jack Sullivan, the guest of honor.
It was hard to miss Sullivan with his gaudy “30th Birthday” paper crown and the arrow-shaped balloons pointing at him.
“Excuse me, you missed me!” he said, waving his hand frantically from his wheelchair to get the server’s attention. “I would like to order too since, you know, it is my birthday.”
The server looked at Melissa Jameson, Sullivan’s girlfriend who was seated next to him. “Did you say something, hon?”
Sullivan and Jameson looked at each other and thought, “Not again!” This was, after all, only the gazillionth time this had happened, and they were counting.
“I’d like the surf and turf and a pint of your amber ale, please,” said Sullivan a few decibels higher, giving the server the benefit of the doubt that perhaps he didn’t hear him.
“Is he old enough to drink adult beverages?” the server asked Jameson, nodding toward Sullivan and kicking his wheelchair. “And, you know, being special needs in that, um, handicapped chair thing.”
Fortunately, Sullivan and Jameson were used to this. Not wanting to ruin the party, they took it all in stride. “Maybe if you swiveled your head a few degrees further, you’d notice my 30th birthday crown!” retorted Sullivan. “And I’m not special needs or handicapped. I am disabled. And not deaf. I. Hear. Everything. Coming. Out. Of. Your. Mouth.” After several eye rolls, the group finally got all the orders in. Sullivan and his friends enjoyed the rest of the party without a hitch.
“Who does the check go to?” asked the server at the end of dinner, again looking at everyone except Sullivan, who incidentally was treating his friends to dinner.
Avoiding eye contact with the server, Sullivan took his wallet out and turned to address the plant in the corner of the room. “Hey there! Did you say something?”