i was walking a bottle of my restaurant's excellent willamette valley pinot noir to table seven when i realized, mid-stride, how warm the bottle felt in my palm. before i had a chance to turn back, however, the table saw me. i was locked in and had to present it.



the four people at the table were regulars, and the gentleman sitting at the head of the table peered at the label and touched the bottle. he immediately looked up at me.