Drive-thru Flirtin'
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? M: "Yep." 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 bein...