A pitcher of margaritas. Ouch. I think this was just three-quarters of a beer, but I wasn't one hundred percent positive; and I certainly wasn't going to taste-test it. After the guy apologized and left—after offering to buy me a drink, which I declined as he would probably have just spilled it into my other shoe—the other guy standing behind me with his girlfriend tapped me on the shoulder and said, "If it makes you feel any better, I'm probably wearing the other half of his drink." Sympathy in numbers . . .