All I have to say is this: If you are a waitress who works at a restaurant that happens to have hollowed-out pineapples in which to serve pina coladas to unsuspecting customers, you must (must!) give the customer an option: glass or gutted pineapple?
Twas not the case tonight. I ordered a Bloody Mary and The Skeeze, he ordered a pina colada (yes, he's reverting back to old bitch drinking habits). Evidently The Skeeze has a "I like drinking out of fruit carcasses" look to him, because the waitress didn't even bother asking. I made a point of pointing out to him on several occasions that, ha, you're drinking out of a deceased pineapple.
Not too long after receiving his pineapple, The Skeeze and I noticed surprised looks on the faces of the couple next to us. In front of them the waitress placed two pineapples. The Skeeze tapped the guy of the pair on the shoulder (in a NYC restaurant you can essentially reach every patron with just a bit of ambitious leaning). "Did you indicate that you wanted the pineapple?" Asked The Skeeze. He and his girlfriend said "no," with not a little conviction and a prolonged embarrassed giggle. The Skeeze pointed to his own pineapple and said, "Yeah, me neither." A bond was formed.
As we were waiting for the waitress to bring us our bill, I overheard two guys behind me talking about The Skeeze's pineapple. I let him know about the conversation. The Skeeze said, "I know; I heard." He was not amused.
"Don't you feel naked hearing them speak about your pineapple so openly?"
Anyway, that's pretty much the end of my story. I just thought it was odd getting an obligatory pineapple in NYC. On the beach somewhere exotic? Maybe. In Manhattan, though? Not so much. Well, unless you go here, but I wouldn't suggest that.