The Waterboy:

A Survivor's Tale

Ihad I had a little run-in with an interesting water boy at a restaurant the other day. Here's what happened: I was expecting just to have a nice little dinner, maybe get a little play from my date. That was not to be, not once water boy got in the way. He was the most determined water boy I had ever encountered. He would not let me empty my water glass. Any time my glass dipped below the 3/4-full mark, he ran over and refilled it. I decided to have a little contest with him to see if I could empty my glass. I could not manage to do so, no matter how hard I tried. He seemed to take my attempts as a personal insult to him, and he became more agitated as the evening wore on. He seemed to realize that I was deliberately forcing myself to drink water to try to beat him at this little game.

I think he really got pissed off when he saw how into it I was getting. With the help of my date, I was funneling water like there was no tomorrow. When the funneling proved too slow, I just started coyly dumping the water out under my table, soaking the floor and practically flooding the entire restaurant. No matter what I tried, though, I could not manage to win this little game with water boy. I drank and drank, and I made my date start chugging water too. I mean, who is she not to help me beat that little punk? Then, I called 911 and told them there was a fire and that they should come right away. I started chugging water right out of their hoses, just to spite water boy (I realize now that drinking the water out of the hoses had no effect on my contest with water boy, but it felt good, so I did it). I tried to incite some of the other diners into joining me in a mass insurrection against water boy, but it was to no avail. They apparently saw no redeeming value in the act of beating water boy. I don't know what was wrong with them. They just couldn't see the larger implications of such a contest. No matter what I tried, though, my glass always ended up filled to the brim with water and water boy was always over in the corner gloating. Okay, so maybe he wasn't really gloating, but that's what it looked like to me.

It was at this point that I caught him off guard and managed to empty my glass of its ice-cold liquid contents. He had been called away from his post to set up another table, and I seized this opportunity to chug my water and slam the empty glass on the table, gloating that I had beaten him. I then got up and started doing a celebratory dance on top of my table. I had just torn off my shirt and was beginning to gyrate my pelvis for the women at the next table when water boy retaliated. At first he just shouted at me and started crying, but then he pulled out a sawed-off shotgun he had somehow concealed under his apron and started blasting away. The pregnant woman at the next table went down as the first casualty, but, luckily, I was unharmed. The next victim was the wheelchair-bound blind old lady celebrating her 97th birthday over in the corner. He missed her, but took out the seeing eye dog , and that was just too much for me to handle. It was really too bad what water boy did to that poor dog. Downright cruel. I was outraged. I ran across the room while he was reloading and tackled him, bringing him to the floor with a splash.

Unfortunately, the incredible pressure building on the inner wall of my bladder reduced my otherwise mighty fighting forces, and water boy beat me bloody with his water pitcher as water boys from all the neighboring restaurants marched by me and spat on me. I've had better days. And that's the story of how I single-handedly saved thousands of poor children from being devoured by rabid muskrats in Bangladesh.