Actual Customer Interactions: FrostiDouche

I know I’m in trouble as soon as FrostiDouche opens his mouth to order a round for his rather sizable group of similar-looking frosti-douches and douchettes. Tonight is Madison’s annual Frostiball at the Overture Center, which means that the restaurant had become flooded with assorted affluent men and women in uncomfortable-looking attire who are having dinner before attending this fancy prom for people with exhorbitant amounts of money. I would venture a guess that the majority of the attendees of this adult prom did not get laid at their actual high school proms. But maybe that’s just me being unfair.

“I’ll have two Spotteds!” he calls out over the noise of the busy bar. ‘Spotted’ is douche-speak for New Glarus Spotted Cow. “You got that?”

“I hope so,” I said. “If I can’t keep track of two beers, we’re all in big trouble.”

“What?” FD shouts.

“Never mind. What else?”

“Give me two wines by the glass,” he continues, “and a stoned amaretto sour.”

“An amaretto stone sour?” I confirm.

“What?”

“Never mind. I got it. What two wines were you interested in?”

“I don’t care,” he says. “Pick two. Actually, make it three.”

“Red? White?”

“I don’t care. White.”

“Any specific kind?” I ask, sliding him a wine list. “Nobody cares?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he states, ignoring the list.

“Anything else?”

“Just get those for now.” He’s beginning to get visibly frustrated.

It takes me just a moment to gather FrostiDouche’s six beverages. I make sure to pour him the most expensive white wine on our list.

“What else?” I ask, dropping off the amaretto stone sour.

“Three more Spotteds.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“And… Greg, what did you want?” he turns and shouts to another of the men in his group.

“Should I come back in a moment?”

“No,” he turns back to me. “Give me another white wine and two Grey Goose and vodkas.”

“How do you want the vodkas?”

“Grey Goose and vodka!” he shouts at me like I’m a foreign person.

“Do you want those mixed with anything, is what I’m asking.”

“Grey Goose and vodka!” he repeats, slower this time, and louder.

“I hear what you’re saying, but I don’t know what you want. ‘Grey Goose and vodka’ is redundant.”

“What?”

“They’re the same thing.”

Congrats! Your mom would be proud.

Your mom would be so proud.

“What?”

“Grey Goose is vodka. Do you just want vodka? Up? On the rocks? Mixed with something?”

“Do you know how to bartend or what?”

“Oh god,” I sigh. “I can get somebody else for you, but they’re not going to know what you want either.”

“I want Grey Goose. And tonic. Two of them.”

“Now that sounds like something I can make.”

“What?”