When we walked into the diner, it looked no different than any other diner you'd expect one to look like. The small tables, the long bar where single customers drank their coffee. It all looked right out of a movie, but was very real. My gal and I took one of the tables and smiled like your typical happy couple when the waitress strolled over and handed us a few menus.
"Would you like anything to drink while you check out the menu?" She asked us.
"I'll have coffee please," I replied, "Thank you."
"Me too," my lady said, smiling back.
"Alright," the lady said, smacking her gum. "I'll be right back."
As she walked away, I couldn't help but snicker just a little bit.
"What is it?" She asked.
"I'm sorry, Rachel." I said, covering my mouth up. "It's the gum. It was just so unprofessional. The only way she could be more rude is if she sticks it underneath my plate."
"I know," Rachel said, smiling back. "She sounded like a horse eating peanut butter."
We both giggled for a moment but got it out of our system before the waitress returned with two mugs and poured us each a cup of fresh coffee.
"Do you know what you want to order, hun?" She asked, in an unrecognizable drawl.
"I'll take the cheese omelet." I answered, "Brown toast, and a side of bacon."
"And you, dear?" the waitress asked, gesturing to Rachel.
"I'll have the two egg breakfast special." She answered.
"What kind of toast?"
"White, please."
"Okay then," the waitress said, taking our menus.
"Okay then," I playfully mocked once she was far enough away not to hear me. We both laughed as I took the sugar and started to pour four tea spoons into it.
"Jim," Rachel said, "You said you'd try to cut down."
"I am," I replied, "Instead of cutting down on the sugar, I lowered how much coffee I drink. I will have water instead of a refill."
"Okay," Rachel said, with a tone that didn't seem like she believed him.
We sat there for a few minutes, just enjoying the silence until Rachel stood up.
"I have to go to the bathroom." she declared.
"Okay," I replied, "No need for details, see you when you get back."
She grabbed her phone, and scooted off. A detail that told me she's going to be chatting with a friend and killing time under the guise of taking a stiff dump. I on the other hand didn't care enough to give a shit. I just wish she was more honest about it. I took out my smartphone and started to browse Instagram while waiting for my meal. Moments later the waitress arrived and placed a few plates onto the table.
"Here ya go, hun." She said to me.
"Excuse me," I quickly replied, as I scanned the food before me.
"Yeah?"
"What is that?" I said pointing to the plate in the center of the table.
"That's your toast, hun."
"I remember ordering toast," I started, looking at the two black pieces of bread laying on the plate. "But that looks like two pieces of burnt. I don't remember ordering pieces of burnt with my omelet. Do you?"
The waitress sighed, as she realized that I was going to be one of those customers.
"Websters defines toast as crisp, hot and browned." I continued, "Does that look brown to you? Cause it looks blacker than Don Fucking Cheadle!"
"How does Websters define asshole?" The waitress asked.
"Last time I checked," I said, as I began to re-cock my sarcasm bazooka. "An angry man that doesn't tip his lippy waitress for serving burnt food."
The waitress responded by picking up the plate of toast from the table.
"I'm sorry, Sir." she replied, "I'll make up a new batch."
"Thank you very much," I said back to her, this time with a polite tone.
I started to nibble on my bacon and Omelet while waiting for Rachel to return from the bathroom. She returned a few minutes later and seemed happy to have her food waiting for her.
"Nice," she said as she sat down. She paused for a moment as she looked around. "Where's the toast?"
I paused for a moment. "I sent it back."
Rachel sat back and sighed. "I hope you didn't make a scene."
"If I had, you would have known." I informed her. "I don't like eating pieces of burnt."
"Oh my god, you called them pieces of burnt." Rachel repeated as she was stewing. "Please tell me you didn't compare them to Don Cheadle."
"Well..." I started.
"Oh for fuck's sake, Jimbo!" She called out, "I get it, you don't like burnt toast! But what the fuck do have you got against Don Cheadle?"
"Nothing," I said, taken back by the question. "He's a very talented actor who just happens to have dark skin. You know I threw a shoe at the television when he didn't win that Oscar for Hotel Rwanda. That was total bullshit!"
"Yes, it was." Rachel agreed, "Well if you are a fan, how about you stop using him to grade how burnt your toast is."
"Just seemed to fit," I replied, "And if I'm going to make that kind of metaphor, I'd rather reference an actor that has talent and could use a little promoting. I bet that bitch doesn't even know who Don is, and that's her loss."
"I get it," Rachel said, "It would be her loss if she never saw him in Picket Fences."
"Exactly!" I said, but stopped talking when the waitress returned.
"Here you go hun," she said, smacking her gum again. "Toasted to Don Webster's liking."
"Thank you," I said, biting my lip till it almost bled.
As she walked away, Rachel grabbed a piece and pointed at me. "Don't say a damn word. Just eat your food cause we need to get back on the road. Knowing Angie, she's probably already up there."
"We were told three o'clock." I said, checking my watch. "It's only one right now. Brown nosers like her usually follow orders. We'll be the first ones up there."
"Just a feeling I have," Rachel said, "I wouldn't be surprised if her head was already up Mr. Parson's ass by the time we get there."
"That much of a suck up?" I asked.
"You have no idea." Rachel said, as it clearly upset her. "She'd do anything to get ahead."
"Duly noted, Angie is an ass kisser." I said, "People like that piss me off. I'd give a week's salary to see you call out her shit."
"I wish," Rachel said, thinking about it. "I care too much about my job and our stability to tell her what I really think."
"Yeah, being responsible adults sucks ass." I concurred.
When we finished up, Rachel quickly left to start the car. I handed a crisp twenty over to the waitress.
"No change necessary." I told her.
"I thought you said I wasn't getting a tip." The waitress said to me.
"I had a change of heart," I said, as I stood up to put on my jacket. Rachel was already outside so I was confident I could get away with here. "But here's another tip: lower the setting on your fucking toaster."
"Whatever, asshole." The waitress chided back.
"Sticks and stones, hun." I said mockingly, "And lose the gum next time. You might get better tips if you stop doing a bad impersonation of Mister Ed."
The waitress stood there in stunned silence, finally speechless and I laughed out loud as I walked back out to the car. If brunch was any indication from karma, this weekend was going to be fucking lit.