the bastard was in a crappy restaurant with his old brother in law…
the scowl
the scowl worked in food services for years…
and his two most important maxims for surviving a meal…
A: if your food is not to your liking, don't send it back… they will spit in it or worse. better you should order something else off of the menu because they more than likely won't know it was you and not spit in it and you will more than likely get a nice meal.
and
B: do not give your service a hard time until you get the check. that is the transfer of power. the waiter no longer has control of your digestive system and you can say your piece by tipping what you saw fit.
I used to date a girl who loved to fuck with the wait staff at this Pizza Hut we used to frequent like mental patients. in retrospect, I can only imagine how much fecal matter lived in my supreme personal pan and how much piss was in my coke.
now:
I'm finally calming down…
I've had a shit evening that started at 1am when I decided to emai the super for what seems like the 25th time in the last two weeks that my hvac hasn't been fixed…
granted, it hasn't been all that warm out since summer tucked tail and ran but, I want all of my stuff to be in working order regardless…
we paid good money for this jib joint…
but after three emails, it was for naught and I was kind of seething when I decided I would break form with the deal the wife and I have when she goes away on business and ordered takeout from the bar behind us…
it was cheap…
and it's behind my home…
so I figure, "what the hell?"
over an hour later, I call them up and ask what's up…
oh we're bagging it up now sir…
20 minutes later, I get a call from the delivery guy asking me where I live…
and the bastard just loses it…
I live behind your bar
on the corner?
no you fuckwit… is your bar on a corner?!?
behind the bar?
yes behind the bar
and so finally, my repast shows up and I head to the elevator to get some din din.
only the elevator and I had a disagreement…
it wanted me and it to spend some quality time together.
so…
there I am stuck between floors, wishing that I had just made pasta two hours ago hitting buttons and hitting the alarm button to "shave and a haircut, two bits"…
and thats when I left my body.
eventually, the elevator releases me from her embrace so I can walk up from the basement to lose control and punch he delivery man in the face.
but... I thought better of it and just yelled at him a lot.
and i went upstairs with my cold chicken and soggy fries and my disdain for it all…
and I still had to give the babby a bath…
so dinner was a dish best served cold tonight.
at least my living room doesn't feel like 80 degrees anymore
—the bastard
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