Have A Drink On Me

Sometimes the sheer animal stupidity of people is too much to let pass without comment.

Last night I was waiting on a table of assorted hayseeds who were gathered together at the Fajita Factory for what I can only assume was a mini family reunion/pre incestuous group sex dinner. They obviously didn't get out much, and judging by the number of offspring present apparently didn't get the memo that people that devoid of any positive attributes should limit their reproduction to...say...zero.
After a chaotic dinner in which the senior hayseed mysteriously found it necessary to inform me repeatedly that he was 'from Georgia' they settled in for a marathon conversation about banjos and Nascar or whatever.
I was sweeping the appalling mess of nacho chips, goldfish crackers and powdered baby formula packets (only the finest chemical cocktails for the infants in the 'Burbs; Jesus doesn't like to see women nursing babies, it's pornographic) when Pa did the unthinkable. He came and found me with an urgency that would suggest the table was on fire. I hate it when they come looking for you. The absolute worst is when they wander into  the kitchen. The only time it's acceptable for some customer to wander into the kitchen is to inform everyone there was a zombie army gathering out in the parking lot, or a demon dog backing a nerdy accountant into the window.

"Ok. Who brought the dog?"

Not because they need more honey mustard. Anyway, here is the script of what happened next:

Pa: "Din't you  see me waving at you? I was doing this."(pantomimes very dramatic waving)

Remember this is the same guy that told me like 4 times he was from Georgia. For some reason.

Me: "Um, no actually. This sweeping is some difficult stuff that requires razor sharp focus and all of my mental ability."

Pa: "She needs you." (points to the table)

When I get to the table she is quite perturbed and snaps at me
Ma: "Can I git more drink?"
This is not really a question, and the tone would be more appropriate if she were saying something like 'I just kilt yer best hog, Hatfield!'

I look at the table and point to a full, frosty glass of coke sitting right in front of her next to her empty glass.
Me: "How about right there? Is that one going to work for you?"

She stares at it for a second and (I swear to God this is all true) says, pointing to Cletus "that's his." Except his is pronounced 'hee-is'.

Me: " No, he is drinking a Diet Coke. That is your Coke."
She is really incensed about my dogged refusal to be the one in the wrong here. Apparently.
Refusing to give it up she turns on Cletus.
Ma: "Is that yer drink rat theyur?"
Cletus: "Yeah."
Ma: "Are yew drankin' Diet Coke?"
Cletus (getting uncomfortable now) " Uh huh."

She looks at me. I look at her. She says, angrily, "Well I din't know yew brought a new one. You din't say nothin'."
Me: "Right. Usually I have this bell I ring when I bring drinks and I announce it like (ringing invisible bell) 'Hear Ye, Hear Ye, I bring a new drink for Milady'. But I left it at home today. Sorry about that."
They're all staring at me now. I think they're actually wondering if I do have a bell, and if it's shiny.

I polish it every night.