“I’ve never been here before,” said Cosby Sweater Man. “How’s the food?”
“It’s great,” I said. “Can I get you a lunch menu? Anything to drink?”
“No, that’s okay, I’m kind of in a hurry. What’s your favorite thing on the menu?”
“I’ll show you,” I said, grabbing a menu off of the back bar.
“Do you have a fish fry?”
I offered my three favorite options to the man as I gingerly snuck a menu in front of him, praying to the lord above he would relent and use it. By now, the bar was picking up, and a number customers began filling in around him.
I could feel that icky feeling in my belly that I was falling behind and rapidly approaching the weeds. People up and down the bar were giving me the eye.
“What’s that pork sandwich like?”
“It’s probably my favorite, if I had to pick.” I was beginning to sweat. I was losing control of the situation.
“Does it have barbecue sauce on it?” asked Cosby Sweater, eyes still stubbornly averted from the menu in front of him.
“No it doesn’t. We do give a pretty good description of each of our menu items on the…menu. Sir.”
“Ah, okay,” the man said, glancing down. “Oh. How do people like the chicken sandwich?”
“It’s very popular.”
“I would not dream of lying to you, sir.”
“Okay. I’ll have that with a side of baked beans.”
“Uh,” I stammered. Who was this guy? “We don’t offer baked beans as a side, but the sides we do offer are at the top of the page in front of you.”
“That’s fine. I’ll just have cottage cheese.”
“Unfortunately, cottage cheese is not an option either. Only what’s listed at the top of the page. Shall I give you another minute to decide?”
“No, no. Let’s see…”
I could feel the surrounding customer’s hungry glares boring into me as their fingers drummed upon the wooden surface of the bar.
“I’ll do those.”
“Great. Thanks.” I made a motion to leave.
“And can I get that as soon as possible?” he asked, beginning a text message on his phone. “I have a 12:30 meeting.”
“We will certainly do our best.”
When the man’s food arrived ten minutes later, his hand spiked into the air immediately, as I feared it would.
“Is this sandwich supposed to have bacon on it?”
“Yes, sir. That is how the sandwich comes, as described on the menu.”
“I didn’t know it had bacon on it. I really don’t care for bacon.”
By this point, I was at a loss. The day had finally come. I was a man beaten into submission by another man wearing a hideous, Bill Cosby-esque sweater. “I’d be happy to get another one going for you, but I’m not sure that will give you time to eat it before your meeting. Would you be willing to just remove the bacon yourself?”
“I really don’t like bacon touching anything.”
It was worth a shot, albeit a feeble one.
“Well. I guess that doesn’t leave us much choice. We’ll fire you up a new one.”
“Great. Thanks. And if you could put a rush on that, that’d be great.”
Photos courtesy of Wolf Gnards. Which is hilarious. Read it.