Fisticuffs at Max Brenner

The shame, deep; the desserts, deeply delicious

So on Tuesday I was drunk as a skunk with Risa and we accidentally decided to go to Max Brenners, despite the fact that I stand by my opinion that it is the most ridiculous place on earth. As we were approaching the door, two guys got there first and opened it and let me and Risa walk through first, because that's what's you're supposed to do in the presence of very refined ladies such as ourselves. Anyway, so as I walk in I say "Thank you" to the guy holding the door (Let's call him A), who does not hear me say "Thank you" and mumbles to his friend, "What a bitch!" The friend (B) says, "I heard her say thank you," to which I turn around and say, "No need to call me a bitch, you fucking asshole - I said thank you." As we are standing in the chocolate wonderland area of Max Brenner's waiting to be seated, B then says "You're a real class act" while shushing me and letting me know that he was "done talking about this," to which I respond that I'm not done because I haven't yet pointed out his square-toe Kenneth Cole shoes and monstrous peacoat from J.G. Hook.

Deeply embarrassed about his Macy's ensemble, B then calls me a "c*nt" to which I respond by marching up to the hostess, informing her that B has just called me a c*nt and that by virtue of this he should not be seated, or at the very least, Risa and I should be seated first. The hostess then says "ok" and motions for me and Risa to follow her to a table, and I turn around and say, "Fuck you, suckas!" at which point I realized that I was claiming victory about being seated first at Max Brenners and then briefly contemplated suicide.