I had the strangest dream last night. The restaurant owner’s wife and their two kids walked into my house and seated themselves at my kitchen table. I was in the living room watching Boy Cook Jarrod sleeping in my bed while washing my back with a deck scrubber. I asked, “How did you get by the dogs?” (Scrub, scrub, scrub.) She said, “They didn’t mind.” (Scrub, scrub.)
Last week Darren told Cora she had to write the employee’s name on every meal ticket. She told him she was aware of the policy. He said, “No Cora. You have to write Pablo, Cerilo, and Cesar on the ticket. You can’t just write Mexicans.”
I had the dumbest family of Australians tonight. I can’t believe they made it this far from home.
The guy asked, “Where is the Alaskan whitefish from?”
“What kind of fish is the whitefish?”
“Well, what kind of fish is the catfish?”
“Yes, I know, but is it Dover sole or…”
“No, it’s catfish.”
“Yes, but what kind of fish is it?”
“You don’t know your fish, do you?”
“No sir, we’re kind of landlocked here.”
Then the woman ordered, “A barbecue sandwich without the meat.”
“So, uh…you want a bun?”
“No, I want a barbecue sandwich, but leave off the meat.”
(At this point, my voice got really loud because this had to be a joke, right?! Surely, no one could really be this dumb. And don’t call me Shirley.)
“Ma’am I’m sorry, but our sandwiches are meat and bun or meat and garlic toast. If you leave off the meat, you’ve got bun. Or garlic toast.”
“Well, can’t you put something else on it?”
(That was where I had the overwhelming urge to run screaming from the table and pound my head against a wall.)
“I don’t know. Something that isn’t meat. It isn’t that hard.”
Oh yeah, make me out to be the dumb one.
In the end, he had the baby back ribs and chicken and she had jalapeno poppers. I can’t remember what the kids ordered because they weren’t complete morons.