Fresh Mex, Indeed

Sincere apologies for the long absence. Science beckons, and that frequently means going in on weekends so my E. coli, every single one of them conveniently named Bobby, won’t die from self-competition for nutrients from bacteria soup.
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For Teeks' birthday two Sundays ago, a few of us went to the Chevy's in Emeryville. Sombrero, pitcher of margarita, embarrassing birthday song, free ice cream - not a big deal, just a pretty good night with one very distinct and what could have been a potentially fatal highlight:

In the middle of the meal, Teeks suddenly exclaimed, "What the hell is this?" and proceeded to pull out a tiny little metal ball from her mouth. Pinoy nearly gagged on his food, the look of absolute surprise and bafflement on his face priceless. [Ed. note: There's a really bad slut joke somewhere in there about the surprise of seeing Teeks pull something other than a penis out of her mouth. But that's all water under the bridge - we won't revisit that side of history, because she’s nice and actually NOT a slut, etc. etc. etc.]

Of course, being the jerks we all are, none of us were seriously concerned about Teeks’ well-being. the only thing on our minds was that she had somehow coughed up a FREAKING METAL PELLET. Also, being the cheap bastards we all are, we immediately started thinking of how we could milk the situation for all it was worth. Compensated meal, of course, but what else? Another margarita, on the house? How about five shots of Gran Patron Platinum, which is $250 a bottle? Maybe just everything at the bar, no? Because we sure as hell don’t want any more of your metal-BB-laden cuisine.

Eventually the manager came over, looking quite embarrassed but ended up being very nice and funny about the whole thing. Teeks got an extra watermelon margarita and a comp’d meal. We were quite disappointed in her for several reasons: 1) being too nice, 2) not taking advantage of a fantastic opportunity, and 3) being nowhere near as Asian as she should have been, because if she were TRULY Asian, she would have milked the poor manager dry until the restaurant went under.

Best line of the night, by far, was our super chill waitress telling us, “Oh, don’t worry about the BB. That’s how you know our pork is fresh – we’re killing them out back.”