Dummy, Can You Hear Me? (An Applebees Rock Opera)

I had a long day yesterday. It wasn’t really that long, but near the end of it I had to parade around in 92 degree heat and do a wedding rehearsal. As they say down at the whorehouse, it was hotter than fornication. I also hadn’t had much to eat all day because I was very busy. To be precise, I had a banana and a left over cold cheeseburger. I know that for some of you anorexics, that’s a weeks worth of food. For my fat self, however, that’s not much of anything. I also didn’t drink enough water, for which I can blame no one but myself.

Anyway, after I finished sweating on my sweat I decided that I would telephone my wife Erin and ask if she wanted to meet at Applebees for dinner. It was a convenient choice because it’s right across the street from her office. On the way to Applebees I stopped at a gas station to get one of those Arnold Palmer Iced Tea and Lemonade things that I am now addicted to – thanks, Arnold, you jerk. Then I got stuck in a traffic jam near Miller Park because a Milwaukee Brewers pseudo-baseball game was letting out. Finally freeing myself from that traffic jam, I cleverly exited the freeway to avoid traffic and headed for the Mall and Applebees on the back streets. Five minutes later I was stuck in the traffic jam that resulted from a detour. It took forever to get to the point where traffic was moving again.

Still, despite my rash of bad luck and dehydration – and back pain – I wasn’t all that late to Applebees. Erin was waiting for me inside the front door and we walked inside where the hostess was standing, steadfastly ignoring us. She asked “Did you two want to sit in the bar?” I asked Erin and she said no she would rather have a booth. The hostess then led us to a high top table in the bar area. At this point I realize I could have told her that no, we weren’t going to sit in the bar – we had made that clear – but I really didn’t have the energy and Erin hates it when I identify stupid people by their most outstanding characteristic (stupidity). As we sat and ate dinner, our very nice but also very stupid server  (when I asked him what kind of beer they had on tap, he haltingly named four and then said, “The one with the canoe on the tapper. Dipshit!) fumbled about going way out of his way to be nice. I would have traded some nice for a few IQ points if I were him. Meanwhile we watch the moronic hostess continue to refuse to seat even people with young children in booths as she pushed everyone into the bar.

I know what you’re thinking – there were enough servers or the other sections were busy, or both. Nope. There were more servers there than there are closeted gay men watching “Glee” with their wives. There were more servers there than there are Justin Boober posters in thirteen year old girls’ bedrooms. And customers – there were so few customers in the place that when I swung a dead cat over my head – as is my custom on entering restaurants – I didn’t even hit anybody.

Then I discovered why she had been holding those booths open.

There in the corner she was, and she was a sight to behold. I am not sure if she was wearing a wig that she stole from someone in a nursing home or if she had just spent three hours teasing her frosted hair and applying six inch long eyelashes. Frankly, if it wasn’t for the mucous green tube top being held up by some B-Ts, I would have seriously thought she was a drag queen. And, if that was her own hair I sure hope nobody lit a match, because there was so much hairspray in it that she would have lit up like a human torch! Now, surely such an act would have harmed her greatly and I would never want to see anything like that happen, but had it flattened off that hair a bit and singed off a couple of inches of eye lashes, she may have actually emerged from the trauma looking better than she had upon entering the restaurant.

Sometimes, in fact quite often, life is more than a little strange.

P.S. If you didn’t catch the humor in the title of this post, Google “The Who Tommy.”

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