Last weekend, five of us cute OC women headed to a hotel for a yummy prime-rib dinner. All was well until you three ghetto-ass people were seated next to us. Hillbilly Bob, Larry and Tina the 300-Pound Chick could only speak "hick." You were ridiculously drunk and were making a scene, saying racist things to the waiter, splashing food on us, using profanity very loudly and annoying the surrounding tables. After quite a few dirty looks back and forth, I politely asked the table to bring it down a notch. All I could say was, "Excuse me?!" and call the manager over to deal with them. Of course the manager didn't do anything except stand there like a dumbass to "make sure they don't say anything else." If I were the manager, I would have kicked the people out and comped our meal, but whatever, I certainly wasn't looking for a handout and didn't count on having to ask a slack-jawed yokel to keep his kinfolk in line.
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