------------------------------------- The name's Peter. From New Jersey. 22 years old. Absurdly sarcastic. Read much more in my "about me" by clicking on the link below. =) Side note: Many people are wondering why there are no "non-anon" questions on my blog. It's because I answer them privately so my blog doesn't get overwhelmed with questions. Side side note: I don't do promos. Side side side note: I don't reblog unless the post is something I really feel needs to be seen.
So I went to Applebees for lunch today and had the pleasure of being assigned the most miserably retarded server in the history of the fine art of waitressing.
Her eyes were bloodshot like she just woke up from a week-long cocaine induced coma, and her voice sounded like she had temporarily taken over the role of lead vocalist at a recent Metallica concert.
To make matters worse, she had a pissy attitude and brought me the wrong drink. My non-existent patience were beginning to wear thin, and I could sense that one of my infamous sarcasm-ridden outbursts would be unleashed in the very near future.
15 minutes later: I still didn’t have my drink and she still hadn’t taken our food order. Meanwhile, I’m STARVING and looking at the pretty food pictures on the menu with puppy-dog eyes. I was ready to go into the kitchen with my fucking untouched fork to either threaten a few chefs or sample all of the freshly cooked food. Or maybe both. I’d make the decision once I entered. Miraculously, however, I managed to contain my fury.
FINALLY, Sergeant Slowski (the name I began to call the waitress) strolled on over to our table and asked: “Would you like to order something to eat while you’re here?” WHATTTT!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?
There it is. It’s time. After such a incredibly STUPID question, this was the perfect time for my sarcasm-ridden outburst.
Holding on to my menu, I replied: “Order something to eat? No. Actually, we’re from the international booth inspectors association and we’re just here on business to test the endurance of the booths we’re sitting in. We just thought we’d take a peek at the menu design while our asses assessed the comfortability of the cushions.”
She didn’t know how to respond so we just awkwardly stared at each other for a good 20 seconds. I, still giving her the death stare, slowly gave her my order: “I’ll have the three cheese chicken penne. With ceasar salad. Dressing on the side. No tomatoes. And no onions. Iceberg lettuce only. Extra croutons. And ice-water on the side. With lemon. No straw.”