Daniel’s jaw dropped when the dirndl-wearing waitress thumped down six big steins of beer on the table before him and his group of friends.
“Why are you Americans so surprised?”
Daniel and his friends turned to the source of the question: a woman sitting with the group next to them at the long table in the beer tent. The woman was a little older than them, and Daniel placed her to be middle aged. She looked like a tough customer.
“How did you know we’re Americans?” Daniel asked.
“Your accents,” she replied. “When you live in Europe, you can tell by the accent.”
“That makes sense. All the different countries.”
“Why is it you are so surprised at the steins?” she asked.
“I wasn’t that surprised,” Tanner, Daniel’s friend, cut in.
“I was,” Daniel admitted. “They’re just so big.”
“But,” the woman said, “isn’t everything big in America? Big houses? Big cars? Big stores to buy everything in one place? Beer steins are not big in America?”
“No,” Daniel replied. “Unfortunately, we have to deal with smaller mugs.”
“Which is why we’re here,” Tanner threw in. “And why we have to come back every year!”
The six guys all cheered, raised their steins, and took a gulp.
“Delicious,” Daniel said.
“That’s what I’m fucking talking about,” Tanner said.
The woman looked amused. She raised her stein and drained it, from half full to empty. Not a drop was spilled. Her eyes looked at them gleefully as the back of her hand touched her lips, and it slid, wiping it and her forearm against her lips.
“I hope all of you can survive Oktoberfest,” she said. Then she turned toward the waitresses scurrying about and yelled, “Ein bier, bitte!”
The six guys stared at her, impressed.