The Randomness Continues

Monday, September 06, 2004

A man walks into an upscale French restaraunt, and waits at the podium as the Maitre'd puts on a french accent for the Mayor's wife's sister. The Maire'd turns back to the podium, and says to the man in a Brooklyn accent, "Thanks for waiting."

The Maitre'd leads the man to a small table in the back of the room, drops a menu, and walks away to play "Piere". The man is reading when a waiter approaches him. The waiter coughs. The man continues reading. The waiter coughs again. The man looks up, the waiter smiles. "Do you need a cough drop?" The man asks innocently.

"What would you like to drink, sir," the waiter says in absolute polite hostility.

"A glass of your worst coffee and a cup of your best sugar, please."

The waiter walks away, and returns with a black cup of coffee and white cup of sugar. The man dips his finger into the sugar, then looks up at the waiter walking away. "Excuse me, waiter?" The waiter turns on a dime, and gives the man a smirk that has the same effect as nails on a chalk board.

"Yes sir?"

"This is splenda," the man said, questioningly and disgustedly.

"Yes sir, it is. You asked for the best sugar. Splenda is the best."

"Actually, splenda isn't 'sugar', it's a sugar substitute."

"I see, well sir, that is what we have."

"A French restaraunt only has non-sugar, sugar? I thought French people loved sugar."

"Well sir, I'm not French. We're told to speak with accents. I'm from Wisconsin."

"Then is the owner French?"

"Italian."

"I see." Both men looked at each other for several minutes, before the man broke the silence. "On second thought, I have a pixy stick in my pocket." The waiter walked away in what later the man presumed was some level of disgust.

On the other side of the room, the waiter walked to the table of a woman and her 10 year old son. "Are you ready to order yet, ma'am?"

"Yes. I will take the Quail in the mushroom wine sauce."

"An excelent choice. And for you, sir?"

"Do you have French fries?" The boy asked.

"We have English chips."

"But isn't this a French restaraunt?" The boy asked.

"It is, but French fries are actually Belgian."

"So you serve English chips? French fries might not be French, but they're more French than English chips," the boy said, in what later was taken as sarcasm.

The waiter sighed. "So would you like the English chips then?"

"But I want French fries," the boy whined.

"But they're the same thing, honey," his mother said.

"But I want French fries."

"They are the same thing," the waiter said, losing his patience. "I have an idea, let us just call them fried potatoes, alright?"

"On second thought," the boy said, "I'll take a hamburger."

The waiter sighed. "I'm sorry sir, but we don't have that either."

"That's right, Hamburgers are originally from Germany. What about wonton soup? A pizza?" The waiter glared.

"Is there anything on our menu that you would like, sir," the waiter said, trying to remain polite.

"Yes, I'll take some paella. Oh excuse me, that's Spanish."

"Yes sir, it is. I'll tell you what, sounds like you need more time to think," the waiter said, turning on his heel and walking off. He walked past the man, who stopped him as the waiter attempted to sneak past.

"Excuse me, waiter, there's a-- well-- I'm not quite sure what it is, but it's in my bowl of soup." The waiter turned and attempted to smile, but he could slowly feel his grip on sanity slipping.

"Well," he said, undoing his bow tie, "let me take a look at that." The waiter walked up to the man, and slammed his face into the bowl of soup. After around 3 minutes, the bubbles stopped. The waiter's ghost came down from the sky and tapped the man on the shoulder. The man looked around, and saw no one. But he could have sworn he heard someone faintly say, "There's a waiter in your soup."

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