My Dad The Serial Killer

After a long night of heavy drinking a friend and I went to the restaurant my dad owns (but leases out) for some hangover-curing grease. I also live right above this restaurant so we didn’t even have to brush our hair before rolling out of bed and traipsing down.

Well, upon arrival we are given one menu. This is what I call foreshadowing. I order a soda and she gets some water (yes, she’s a supermodel). Our dear of a waitress comes back to take our order:

Waitress: What can I get for you? (directed towards me)
Me: I’ll have the veggie skillet, but instead of tomatoes can I get bacon. (I asked for the veggie instead of the meat skillet because it was more simpler to say that and I don’t want five pounds of animal flesh in the morning.)
Waitress (whips her head up like I asked for the Taz Mahal): You do realize I’m going to have to charge you for the entire order of bacon, right?
Me (terrified): Oh, ok.
Waitress: You want white or wheat?
Me: White
Me (more terrified): Ummm… white, please.

The same antics of occur when Lucifer takes my friend’s order. After she can see that we are near tears she comes back with.

“I am just SO burned out! I open; I close; I open; I close! I can’t take this!”

Friend: Yeah, um…I’ll have two eggs please (again, supermodel).

The fun didn’t end there. After we waited for our first gray hairs to sprout and our first borns to graduate college we finally got our food. Mind you, this was a delicious meal. But with the plates we got our checks — and wow, did we feel welcome.

My check:
Veggie Skillet: $7
Bacon: $3
Can of Pepsi: $1.50
Can of Pepsi #2: $1.50

After I pick my jaw up off the floor realizing I’m spending $14 including tax on breakfast I pay the bill. I mean, seriously, I don’t want to get shanked.

Well, after breakfast we leave her $3 which is more than generous for the amount of mental abuse we suffered. So, we go next door to the bar and talk with my dad’s girlfriend about The Infamous Breakfast. She can’t believe it.

So, in walks my father (think a more tattooed mean-faced Red Foreman).

My dad’s girlfriend says “Oh, T listen to this breakfast story!”

So, I rant and rave in a melodramatic way (I know, I couldn’t believe it myself) about our adventure. I tell him verbatim what occurred in the restaurant but in a laughing I-can’t-believe-how-mentally-disturbed-people-in-the-food-industry-are kind of way.

Cue the waitress walking in across the bar to right prices on the special sign.

I immediately stop talking and hide myself around the corner of a wall like I’m A Child Called It.

Dad: “You charged her 14 FUCKING dollars for breakfast!?”
Me: “Dad…stop…stop!” (This was very quiet. I’m actually not sure even he even heard me or not but I did it for effect…I’m also smiling like a stupid idiot at this point because I had to peek around from my hiding spot)
Waitress: “What?! I just charged her what I’m supposed to be charging her!”
Daddy: “$14 fucking dollars?! I couldn’t have got a steak dinner for that price!?”

At this point, the waitress is staring me down with homicide written across her face.

Me: “Really, no big deal. I actually like paying a lot of money for breakfast. It makes me feel famous.” (Ok, in retrospect I didn’t ACTUALLY say this but I definitely should have instead of blithering like I just volunteered for a lobotomy.)

And then there was dead silence…it was over.

So…needless to say I high-tailed her out the back door with my friend in tow because the waitress was near the front door and I didn’t want her to turn me into a veggie skillet.

Then, I immediately ran upstairs to tell the world that I’m quite sure someone on death row was killed the day my dad was born and his soul found comfort in my grandmother’s womb.

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