There are some things that you just expect when you are on a 3am-after-party-food expedition. Granted at 3am, choice are limited to few establishments.

After partaking in my fair share of cold brew and closing down Catscratch Jane’s on Wednesday night, the whole load of us decided food was in order as it was late & we were packing a cool buzz. Never mind that my ass had to get up at 7:00am to finish broccoli casserole. So, personally, I was in need of coffee.

Where else would ya go at 3am on Thanksgiving morning for a little sobriety effort? Why, Waffle House, of course.

We wandered in giggling and cackling about anything and everything. All it takes for me to get tickled is enough beer and somebody else starting to laugh. No shit, laughing & yawning are contagious around me.

We finally played musical chairs long enough, got seated and our waitress came over. She was obviously annoyed that she was working and she was obviously even more annoyed that she was dealing with us. If you have to work that shift, at least make an effort to enjoy it.

Whatevers. This poor chick had the personality of a wet-sweat-sock. She took 2 of our orders, not speaking between, just sort of grunting at whoever happened to be next.

Just as she grunted toward #3, her cellie rang. The fact that she had her cellie on her was no big deal. Even the fact that it rang while she was waiting on us was no really big deal even. But when the bitch cut me off mid-order to answer it, now that just pissed me off. Her side of the conversation went this-a-way.

“I gotta answer this.” She grunted as she lowered her head, still facing our table (presumably so her boss wouldn’t see).

“Hello? Who is this? Who is this?” She acted like she didn’t know who HE was.

“Who the hell is this, I’m at work and I have customers.” Why the hell would you tell somebody you don’t even know that you are currently at work and are waiting on them?

“Jesus, Robert. No, I’m not talking to anyone else.” She DID know his ass.

“How can I be cheating if I’m working?” Apparently, Robert didn’t have any faith that she was truly working. I guess that Waffle House distinct waffle and bacon smell being emitted by her apron wasn’t enough proof.

Taucha, my drunk monkey friend, decideds she wants to talk to Robert. So, the waitress obliges (and takes another little bit of our order). After only 2.7 minutes, Taucha hands her the phone back and says to our lovely server, “Lose him, girl. He’s a dick.”

Mario getting on the phone didn’t help. It made Robert believe that she really was in the cubicle of a bathroom bangin’ the customers.

We all figured Robert would show up waving a semi-automatic threatening to blow up the Waffle House and everyone in it because in his head he believes that his girl was fucking us all.

Get a grip, pal. Let the girl bring home the bacon in piece you loser.