“This wine is terrible,” I said.

“No, it’s fine,” Donny said.

“You can’t taste.  This is swill.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“This wine is terrible.  Waiter!  Waiter!  This wine is terrible.  I demand another bottle.”

“But sir, you’ve drunk most of it already and…”

“Are you calling me a goddamned liar?  Are you calling me a liar?”

“No, sir, it’s just that…”

“Just drop it, Phil,” Donny said.

“You will bring us another bottle, young man, or I will speak to your manager.”

“She’s not here right now, but if I can…”

“Shut your mouth and bring me another bottle!”

“Phil, the wine is fine.”

“You shut it, Donny, you can’t taste a thing,” I said.  “Well?  Get going!”

“Yes sir.”

“Why do you need to always make such a fuss?”

“This wine is terrible.  I can’t drink terrible wine like this.”

“We’ve had worse.”

“No, never this bad.  This is wine from a jug.  It tastes like cigarette butts.  It tastes like a horse’s fart.  Don’t you taste it?”

“I can’t taste anything.”

“That’s what I told you.  You can’t taste anything.”

“Sir, will the bottle be acceptable?” the waiter asked me.

“I hope so.  If it isn’t, I’ll never eat here again again.  You know who I am don’t you?”

“Now Phil…”

“Shut up, Donny.  You know who I am, don’t you young man?  Wait.  Nevermind.  I don’t care what some stupid waiter thinks.  Just open the bottle of wine.”

“Of course, sir.”

“This is a nice bottle.”

“See?!  That’s why I had him bring us another one.  That last one tasted vile.  Like my mouth after a night of too much scotch, smokey, disgusting.”

“You’ve had too much to drink today too.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do, Donny.  You’re not my mother.”

“She’s dead.”

“You’re damn right she’s dead.  You’re not her.  Boy!  Pour me a glass of wine!”

“I need to get you a clean glass, sir…”

“Nevermind that, just pour it into this glass,” I said.  “This is better, but still not good.  Send it back.  Who buys the wine here!?  Bring me the sommelier!”

“That won’t be…”

“Oh yes it will be!  Bring him here!”

“Right away, sir.”

“We should go.”

“Not before I talk to the goddamned sommelier to tell him he’s got piss poor taste in wine.”

“Jesus, you’ve had four bottles.  How bad can his taste be?”

“Are you contradicting me?  Are you contradicting me?  Me, who has done everything for you?  You’d be living in a flophouse still, sewing buttons on pants, if I hadn’t raised you up, made you respectable.  How dare you tell me I know nothing about wines!”

“Sir, I understand you’re having an issue with the wine?” the sommelier said.

“Yes, I am.  This wine tastes like ash.  Here.  Try it.”

“Sir, that is one of our finest wines, direct from the vineyards in France.  It’s highly regarded in the community.”

“Are you telling me I don’t know what I’m talking about?”

“Oh no….”

“Of course not, sir.  I would never…”

“Let me tell you, I didn’t fight in the war to have some prim and proper, fancy suit wearing, wino tell me what I know about wine,” I said and threw the mostly full new bottle across the restaurant.  “Now let’s see you clean that up, boy.  Donny, get up.  We’re leaving.”