So here we are in Switzerland, after a beautiful train ride and a couple of cocktails, thinking about getting some dinner. Our bartender was kind enough to recommend a place. It wasn't within walking distance, so he called us a cab.
It was pouring rain and none of us had umbrellas.
The cabs arrived (two of them, because there were 9 of us) and we quickly ducked into them. We drove for about ten minutes towards the outskirts of town, going uphill along a scenic, winding road. We pulled up to the most adorable restaurant nestled in the trees on the mountainside. Its brightly-lit interior was beckoning to us from the dark, rainy night.
We opened the door and burst into that restaurant like a ten-ton freight train into a china shop.
This restaurant was fancy. It had candle-lit tables and soft music. The patrons were dressed smartly and the place settings had multiple types of cutlery.
We were loud, sopping wet, and Steven was wearing an Andy-Warhol style Star Wars t-shirt.
Every single person in the place paused what they were doing and turned to look at us when we barged inside.
The head waiter took one look at us:
"I'm sorry, we don't have any available tables this evening."
When we attempted to crane our necks around him to ascertain if he was telling the truth, he physically blocked our view with his body. That man was not letting us step one foot further into his restaurant.
We begged. We pleaded. We cajoled.
"No reservations, no seating here." He stood firm.
We watched a table of 9 finish their dinner, get up, and leave. We pointed to the empty table. Why can't we sit there? We asked.
"I need to ask you to leave." He said.
We looked at each other. We looked at him.
"But what do we do? Our taxi left. We're hungry. Where can we eat?"
"I don't know," he said sarcastically, "McDonald's?"
We were clearly underdressed and overloud for this establishment. The insult was the last straw. We convinced him to call us some cabs and waited outside in the cold and rain for them to arrive.

CONVERSATION