• The Finer Things

    From Allen Prunty@1:2320/100 to All on Sat May 28 13:52:02 2016
    An old, cranky, obnoxiously suited man sat in my section with a younger-but- still-old hooker. She looked like a man dressed as Grace Jones, and he looked like a corpse dressed as an old man. He was dismissive, rude, and impatient. I was alive with venom.

    "Hello, how are..." I started.

    "Blended margarita," he interrupted with a snap of his fingers. "She wants a blended margarita, right away, and I want uhm.....uh uh uh..."

    "Let me race you to the end of that thought," I interrupted, "We don't do blended drinks."

    "Why not?"

    "We don't have a blender," I replied.

    "Why not?" he asked again.

    "Because we don't do blended drinks."

    Finally they settled on two glasses of wine.

    "What's your finest appetizer, and not the most expensive?" he asked.

    "The oysters," I replied, "they're the most expensive."

    "Bring one of your finest appetizers, but not the damn oysters," he said. "She deserves the finest, got it?"

    After enjoying the potato skins I selected, he decided on the pasta special. For her, he ordered a burger, extra well done, thrice-repeating the request for burger and bun only, not a damned thing else. Eventually the food arrived, and I was summoned to their table immediately and frantically as if I had information on their missing child.

    "She hates this burger," he tells me.

    "Yeah it's BORING!"

    She speaks!!

    "I mean," she continued, searching, "...there's nothing even on it!!!!"

    "Correct," I said, "because that's how he ordered it for you."

    They asked for everything that normally comes on the burger on the side. Even after the condiments and toppings arrived, both their entrees remained untouched.

    "We decided we probably shouldn't eat too much right now, ha ha ha ha..." he said with a nasty, pervy smile as he grabbed her hand and shifted in his seat. "You can box these up and find a homeless person, it will be the only nice thing they ever eat." They both laughed; poor people are so funny, LOL!

    I dropped the bill.

    "Did you give us happy hour prices?" he asked.

    "Nope," I replied. "We don't do happy hour."

    "Well you should," he replied. "I'd come back more often."

    "I'll definitely note that," I said.

    He paid, and they left to test his Viagra. On a $100 bill, he tipped me five goddamn dollars. She accidentally left her Louis Vuitton sunglasses, and I pocketed them for safe-keeping.

    Shortly thereafter, I left the restaurant. I walked outside to a homeless man who was digging around our Dumpster.

    I handed him the woman's sunglasses, and bid him a good afternoon.

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