The Rant:

If I’m in a reasonably upscale establishment and I order a martini, don’t waste my time with a staggeringly inane question such as “Gin or vodka?”

Gin is the default option.  If I wanted vodka, I would have said “Vodka martini” or “vodkatini.” I’d expect the question at some bozo trendy place staffed by 20something morons, but not in a real bar. This is like buying underwear and having the salesperson ask you, “Now, do you expect to wear these around your waist or on top of your head?”

All you need to do is ask me if I want it shaken or stirred, and I’ll have sufficient reason to twist your nose like a corkscrew.*

The Awkward Moment:
She: Go ahead, ask her anything about the Brat Pack. She knows everything about them.

Me: (Turning to Other She) Okay, what was the name of Ally Sheedy’s book of poetry?

Other She: Huh?

Me: She says you know everything about the Brat Pack.

Other She: No no, I know everything about the Rat Pack.  Ask me anything about Frankie or Dean.

(Uncomfortable silence as everyone suddenly realizes that I, Greg, have admitted that I know the name of Ally Sheedy’s book of poetry.)

Me: Uh...so, how about that governor recall campaign?

Overheard:
He: When are you supposed to stop breastfeeding?

She: Definitely by the time the child is able to ask for it.

He: Right.  ‘Mom, I’m thirsty’ is definitely a tip off.

*Don’t start in with me on James Bond.  He doesn’t actually drink shaken martinis either.  Yes, yes, I know he’s all “Shaken, not stirred,” but next time you watch one of the movies, study the reaction of the person serving him.  That person gives Bond a look that says “Oh I get it, he’s not really asking for a shaken martini, which doesn’t exist; he’s telling me something subtle about his psychological profile, which is that he gets very stressed in the course of his day but doesn’t lose his composure.  He must do something dangerous for a living.  I’m guessing inner city teacher or postal worker.”