Friday, October 5, 2007

A good Huck

She and I were sitting there, waiting for T-Shirt to show. I invited my coworker to lunch after raving how fabulous T-Shirt was, but after a few minutes I became a little antsy and decided we should go ahead and order sans company.
Our waiter, this rather large guy in his early twenties, wearing a bright yellow shirt and having the social skills of a teenage boy whose life revolves around porn and video games, kept hovering around to see if the third member of the party arrived.
"How's the food? Is everything good? Do you want dessert?"
Seriously dude, leave me the hell alone because I'm one crabby crazy PMSing bitch, likely to shoot flames out of my mouth and no, not fumes from halitosis, real flames because I'm that pissed off about a work situation.
Lunch was finally consumed and I joked T-Shirt stood us up, and we left to return to work, laughing having realised the waiter's name was Huck, and proceeded to joke about the name Huck and who would name their child that, and if he were a superhero he should be Husky Huck or for those with slight verbal dyslexia, Hucky Husk.
And when I arrived back in my office I called T-Shirt, demanding to know why wasn't she at O'Charley's, home of orgasmic bread rolls?
I was there, was the response. I waited for you in the car [something-something about sumptuous breasts].
I was there too, my response. I was sitting right by the front door!
You know, it would have helped if I recalled that she originally suggested O'Charley's, and I pooh-poohed it, suggesting Mexican instead. And it would have helped if I didn't immediately vanquish the thought of said Mexican in my head, and tell my coworker we were meeting T-Shirt at O'Charley's.
But hey... at least T-Shirt got a quickie out of it. I just had a Huck.

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