Last night I went to dinner with a friend of mine to a local diner. As I was waiting on my sandwich to make its way to my table, one of the short order cooks winked at me and complimented my hair. (For those of you who don't know me, my hair is natural, curly, and reddish blonde in the summertime. Most days it looks somewhere between a muppet and Orphan Annie.)
I thanked him for the compliment and asked him to hook up my sandwich (a reuben with coleslaw, not saurkraut, on grilled marble rye. This sandwich has all the fat, sodium and calories one should consume in a year. I only eat it once a year, and I can only eat half, but when I do, it's totally worth it).
As I'm sitting with my girlfriend, short order cook starts to wink at me from behind the counter. "Here we go," I thought to myself. He then cocks he head to the left and nods it at me, signaling for me to come to him. I send him a look of confusion, like I'm too socially inept to read the signal for "come hither."
Thinking that I might be the village idiot, he tries another non-verbal cue. He picks up a pen, scrolls some receipt paper from the register, points the pen at me, then mimes the action of writing on the receipt paper.
My girlfriend is cracking up.
Now, I know I look like a muppet. I'm certain that any man who would hit on me while I look like a muppet is not playing with a full deck.
I decide that he has officially asked for my number and give it to him. He's wearing a nametag that--oh wait, he's calling now. This should be interesting, brb
Evelyn Parkside
How'd it go?
ReplyDelete