Last summer, which was full of great stories of varying degrees of believability, a group of 6 of us went to Moe’s Cantina after a Cubs game. Aside from the fact that all the waitresses were wearing sexy tight corsets, the place was packing heat. As we were sitting there with our first round, we look over and see a group of 6 girls sitting around a booth table, casually enjoying their shared appetizers and fruity drinks.

They seemed to be passing around what looked like a greeting card, so we guessed one of them was celebrating a birthday. Having a bona fide opera singer among us, we decided they needed a serenade, a loud, obnoxious, conversation-stopping, bar-silencing “Happy Birthday to You”. But instead of just going over directly, we thought it would be fun to build some suspense, so we had our tight-corset-wearing waitress (who was also worth our undivided attention, but we decided on the group over the lone star) drop off a note at their table, straight out of elementary school, something to the effect of “Celebrating a Birthday?, [check yes or no].”

The cheesy note worked, and the girls were giggling and looking around, wondering where it came from. As we waited for the right moment, our plan almost blew up right in front of our face. A group of guys was walking by on their way out, and the girls, thinking they had written the note, started talking to the dudes. They almost stole our set, but their conversation must not have been engaging enough and they were soon dismissed. Time to move in for the kill, before some other douches try to roll our girls again.

We rolled over, sat down, chatted them up, and sang for the birthday girl. Our goals of being obnoxious, making conversation stop and getting everyone in the place to look at us were met. After the informal show, we exchanged several phone numbers, to add to the ever growing, though thoroughly unreliable, list of girls you can call out of desperation when you realize the party you’re throwing is likely to be a sausage fest that would make any Bavarian proud.

They didn’t come to the party, and we never saw the girls again. But it was a more memorable evening than had we just sat around finishing our Buds talking about how sweet we are, how hot girls around are, or how much certain people suck.