Do you work with an attractive young waitress named Julie G? I do. All that needs to be told today is that Julie's real nice and she brings snacks to work.
Julie always offers to share. The snacks are often candy, which I always decline—that shit's hella bad for you—but sometimes I'll sample her crackers or pretzels. The other night. I believe it was a Tuesday, Julie and I were the only waitpersons scheduled. We arrived at the same time. Julie broke out a bag of chips and asked if I'd like some. The chips were a kind I'd never heard of, Lay's® Kettle Cooked. I poured myself a modest handful and shoved them into my piehole. They were good!
Julie ate a chip. "Yuck!" she exclaimed as a grimace crossed her pretty face, The chips were salted with a flavor called "Geektown Gyro™". I wasn't knocked out by that particular flavoring either—I mostly enjoyed the texture and crunchiness—but it wasn't offputting. Julie really hated it, though.
Our three rezzies (seven total covers) all showed, along with a like number of walk-ins. Neither of us had to work all that hard and we each walked with well over a hundred bucks. We clocked out a little after 10:00 and prepared to walk to the parking lot together. "Hey. You want these chips? I didn't like them," said Julie.
"Sure, thanks," said I and we walked into the night.
It was kind of chilly out, and inside my whip too until the heat kicked in, so I put on my coat. It's real nice, an MLB officially-licensed Saint Louis Cardinals one. It was given to me by a now-former girlfriend who cruelly dumped me when I was diagnosed with commitmentphobia. On the way home I didn't buckle my seat belt (#FuckDonnyT-Rump!) but I did rock my Cards gear and started thinking about dinner. Since I already had chips, I decided on hummus. To get to a store that carried it and was still open, I detoured down a nice, quiet residential street.
I was pretty close to the 24-hour Foodtown® when a siren blared and some blue lights flashed behind me. I wasn't speeding and I was totally sober. I have a valid driving license, car insurance, good tags and my registration, so I wasn't too worried (even though you never know how shit's gonna go down in these instances!). But I was, technically, in violation of America's oppressive seat belt laws. "Damn! That fascist pig has really good eyesight," I thought to myself, bitterly.
But seat belts weren't mentioned. Unbeknownst to me, I had a brake light out. I promised to fix it tomorrow and was permitted to leave, unticketed. I buckled up and headed to Foodtown, still clad in my bright red Saint Louis Cardinals merch.
I was rung up by Msericka, a good-looking young white woman. She complimented my jacket and my choice of team to like. I think I was the only customer in there, so we had time to chat a minute. It turns out that Msericka's biological father was from Saint Louis and she'd inherited her fandom (and I guess not much else) from him.
I left with my Supremely Spicy hummus by Sabra® product in a pretty good mood. I just met a cutie who liked my favorite team and had daddy issues!
The radio was tuned to the "Everything that Rocks!" station and Led Zeppelin came on. I cranked it. I must of been pretty exhilarated because heading home, via the same quiet street I'd just gotten pulled over on, I forgot to buckle up.
How was your night?
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