The careless steward

Feeling exhausted and sitting in the seat of the airplane, I finally started to drift asleep. Then a male flight attendant parked his metal cart in front of my seat and began to serve the plane. Moving speedily and deliberately like a nightclub bartendar, he jostled the various beverages to carbonic eruption, rapping them on the metal cart like a punk rock drummer. RATTA TAT TAT! His favorite move was to shake them wildly, so as to prompt the largest racket and fizz when opening. Splotch! That’s how I found myself with freckles of tomato juice on my face. Splotch! Then Sprite. Ok, who orders Sprite at 8 in the frickin’ morning?
Then he turns to me. “Would you like something to drink?”