Time: Yesterday, 4:00 p.m.
Place: Griff's, an all-too sparse Big D hamburger chain that makes cheap,
yummy fast food
Why: HAD to have a corn dog (insert weiner joke here)
What went down:
Drive-thru guy (young, male person, somewhat tough looking):
"What's that on your hand?"
Me (34, pale, on my way home from work -- decidedly not even anything approaching cool looking) :
"Oh, I just write stuff on it to remember."
DTG: "Oh, you got a bad memory?
DTG: "Been smokin too much reefer?"
M: "Nah, it's not that, I'm just gettin old." (thinking to self - not lately, don't tempt me)
DTG: "Well I'm just kiddin', I don't wanna get in trouble, I don't mean to say you smoke reefer... but maybe you do."It is these side-dish situations, orders of fries to go along with the general meaning of existence, that produce questions that can never be answered. Was I being hit on? Was he selling drugs as a side business? Did the manager know? Or was it just inane commentary to alleviate hamburger-vending-induced boredom?
Oh, as a side note, coffee milk is listed up there at 10 cents.**picture of Griff's menu fro the 50s missing** What's a coffee milk in a modern translation? Starbucks Grande Latte. And it's $2.89 or something. And also, how did they decide that french fries were 11 cents, and not 10?
And finally, in case you were dangling in suspense, the corn dog was GREATNESS. But they don't give you mustard unless you ask.