IF THERE’S THE SLIGHTEST CHANCE YOU OR YOUR CROTCHSPAWN MIGHT BE SICK, STAY THE FUCK AT HOME.
The other night I approached a table of two older women. They were weird. The one woman kept calling me names like, “darling”, “sweetie”, “honey” and “baby doll”.
It’s bad enough when men do that shit, but it weirds me speechless when older women do it.
Anyway, the first thing the name caller asked for was hot water because the other woman wasn’t feeling well and she brought her own tea. Two things here: One, if you aren’t feeling well to the point you need tea to settle your stomach, you shouldn’t be sitting at one of my tables. You should be drinking YOUR OWN tea at home with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a bucket. And two, who brings their own tea to a restaurant? This happens more often at the Spaghetti Western than it ever did at the Harribalsac.
So, I brought the hot water, endured the endless terms of endearment and took their order. I brought salads and bread. I brought out the main course and just as I suspected, right when I had the least amount of time, they needed boxes and their check NOW because someone was going to blow chow in the dining room.
At least the woman who did it the week before had the brains to wait outside while the rest of her party boxed her food. This woman sat at the table while I shoveled food in their boxes, much the same way I’d dump leftovers down the garbage disposal, getting closer to spraying me down with her stomach contents by the second.
I think other people puking is about the funniest thing in the world. Just the thought of it or a picture of it will give me the giggles for hours. However, the thought of someone puking on me gives me a much different feeling. I think I would kill someone because it falls in the moron category and I can’t deal with stupid. Sick people should not be out in public filling their stomachs with stuff to make them sicker. When I feel like barfing, I don’t make plans to go out to dinner.
The worst encounter with puking was at the Harribalsac a couple of summers ago. Some people finished their dinner and got up to leave. They stopped me and told me their toddler got sick under the table after eating his corndog. Okay, no big deal. I got the broom and swept out about 2 gallons of clear liquid and a gallon of that sticky yellow dry heaves crap that will make me lose my lunch in a heartbeat. I had to get the mop and blindly mop it up.
What the hell did they feed that kid? His stomach contents weighed more than he did. He probably puked just to keep from exploding. And what was with those parents? They had to notice the difference between puking up meat on a stick and barfing up a swimming pool.