Sunday, January 30, 2005

I'd Like to Cower to the Manager Please

What a weekend. My Friday was so spectacular and informative. I learned that my Playstation 2 has a higher intelligence than I do. This lesson made its way to me somewhere in the 30th minute of me trying to jump up and get a box that had the one remaining item for the initial level of Jak and Daxter. This was such a valuable lesson that I retired early to prepare for the bustling Saturday.

I am very pleased to announce the besides the improv troupe MICETRO (pronounced Mice- tro) which plays Wednesdays at the Breadline Theater @ 8pm, 1802 Berenice (Brown line stop of Irving Park, Ravenswood to Berenice) I will be starting up a new improv duo. My pal Bill and I are both tall and well modestly speaking, dreamy improvers. We like to call ourselves, The Inseam Asylum.

With all that being said look for an promotional barrage of flyers, radio plugs and most likely a Tonight Show appearance. That is to say if Bill and I are not billed as follow ups to Steve Erwin. This should be a great time and I look forward to making you all laugh as The Inseam Asylum.


There is a little sports bar/market place near my friend Rob's. It is called Hawkeyes. I used to think that this was a cool place to go to but I have recently learned that I would rather drink around a flaming garbage can than go there. It has turned into this farm system for Ed Debevics. Each waitress I have had really missed the concept of serving.

Let's get this straight too. I no longer have pity on wait staff. I used to think that they had it tough and that they all started at Denny's so I should be kind to encourage them on in their illustrious career. With recent events leaving me more than sour about service, I no longer feel obliged to tip well. When I have a bad day, call or whatever, the customer usually just hangs up and goes back to thinking about themselves. I get it, you want to be a dancer, actor, comedian, baby's momma, whatever. Don't be rude and take it out on the innocent customers when you finally realize an English degree should have come standard with an IHOP apron.

Don't get me wrong, IHOP is a wonderful place that I could only imagine to someday be fired and then hired at. I just get a bit frustrated when people play the victim and more times than not they are the assailant as well. I have experienced some wonderful wait help. They truly can make this a career because someday they'll be working in that Signature Room atop the JHC.

But not the chach that helped us. I ordered nachos (of course) with only cheese, salsa, and sour cream. She comes back with a plate of nachos with everything on it. Since I was drinking long before, my courtesy filter was removed. Before she even had the chance to put the plate down I told her the order was wrong. She then replied with "did you really? Are you sure?" Listen nimrod, agree with me and you'll make more than $3 this hour ok?

She then asked "can I just scrape it off so that the chef doesn't have to make another one?" This is not a lasagna or anything that requires effort. I ordered something a stoner could make. Chips, cheese, pour salsa, and glob some sour cream on it. Now I fully understand the 30 minute wait for nachos. I mentioned that I had a "slight allergic reaction to olives." She still only scraped off.

What made the night the best was that Eileen, a sweet petite Hawiian (not Samoan if you're wondering) just reemed the manager a new one. Meanwhile Rob and I stared at our place settings. I told Rob that with Eileen's assertion, and our timidness I could actually detect my genitals becoming inverted. It was almost so bad that I walked home with a purse.

I suppose it's all about equal rights, right? This was the woman's time to stand up for her man, and his friend's nachos. Yep, definitely that, we were definitely not being dill holes.

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