Sunday on the way to the airport, my parents and I stopped at Denny’s for breakfast. The back of the menu was the “Senior Menu,” featuring smaller portions specifically for all those tight-wad 55+ peeps regulating their diets. (By the way, aren’t seniors considered to be 65 and over? Why are they pushing me?)
So I threw it down. And our waitress kept writing and said, “Okay. And for your sides?”
*Blaring, rip-roaring record scratch!*
Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Smack the foul buzzer! WTF happened to “May I see your ID please?” What about “I’m sorry, youngun, but that menu is for seniors only!?” No “Are you kidding me? You can’t POSSIBLY be a senior!?”
Next thing, she’ll be remarking all innocent-like, “You two could pass for sisters!” While my mother is absolutely beautiful, she’s SEVENTY-FIVE! And I am . . . YOUNGER!
But no, this waitress wench, with nary a faint glimmer of customer service skills, was more concerned about side dishes. Why, in the sheer insanity of the moment, I forgot what toast was!
With her beady eyes boring into me, I felt like taking my teeth out and spitting them at her! Naturally, I don’t actually have dentures, but my Dad would have let me borrow his. Probably.
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