17 April 2002


I went to the bar next door to pick up some dinner. I was wearing a t-shirt that said "DISGRUNTLED EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH."

One of the waitresses and the bartender laughed themselves silly over that.

"We've got to get some of those shirts in here," the bartender said.

One waitress, though, was sitting at the end of the bar and didn't seem to understand what was so funny.

"What..." she said slowly, "what...what does...what does 'disgruntled' mean?"

Her coworkers explained it to her.

Also, the dim waitress looked to be about eight months pregnant.

While I was waiting for my food the pregnant girl's boyfriend came out of the kitchen. He was whipcord skinny and putting out a powerful, eye-watering stink.

"Bitch, what's the matta wit you?" he asked.

"If you're gonna talk to me like that I'm gonna fuckin' leave," she responded.

"Get the fuck out then, bitch."

"Shut up. Shut. Up. Just shut the fuck up."

She made brief eye contact with me over the guy's shoulder, and the argument quieted to a string of furious whispers.

"Motherfucker...goddamnit...son of a bitch...cocksucker...shit...bitch...don't you love me?"

Just a happy little family, there.