The eyes that seem to be much farther apart than they should be. Eyes that have watched cousins touch each other in the dark, warm areas only non-relatives should be allowed to touch.
Her quizzical expression reminded me of how a squirrel’s mind must feel when it crosses the road in front of a car safely, then darts back from where he came from. But her expression was far less urgent than the squirrel narrowly escaping death.
“Extra mayo? You sure about that,” she said with a southern baptist twang.
“Absolutely dear. Haven’t you ever had mayo on a philly cheese steak?” I answered a bit angrily.
And why did she give a shit about my mayo ordering habits? After all, this was an Applebees in the deep south and not exactly a bastion for health nuts. I naturally assumed that mayo was quite popular here.
But maybe I offended her by not ordering extra Ranch dressing or by not asking for a “to-go” jug of sweet tea. I was still new to the area and I was trying not to agitate the locals.
“Whatever floats yer boat,” she replied. Now I was getting pissed. I absolutely hate that expression. Boats float without any help for me and it’s such a cop-out of an expression.
But I reminded myself that she probably has just completed some high school equivalency exam and was proud of her new “floating boat” expression.
Luckily it only took a few short minutes for my sandwich to arrive. She set the plate in front of me somewhat rudely and said she would bring me another water.
“I’ll put a lemon in it this time, cus’ you look like a lemony kind of guy,” she said.
I was dumbfounded now. First she gives me shit for ordering extra mayo and now suddenly I’m the “lemony” kind of guy. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
By ordering extra mayo I thought she might think I was somewhat of a country boy or even a redneck. But in her small mind, lemony probably refers to me possibly being gay.
As I started to eat my sandwich, I was even more pissed. Instead of extra mayo on the side, my sandwich was flooded with mayo dripping off the bread like melted butter.
It was fucking everywhere. I could barely even see the meat or the cheese. There was no way to eat it with my hands so I started eating it with a fork and knife.
As I choked down the first bite, she was back with my water. I decided to cut my losses and not complain about the mayo mishap.
“Hmmm, I see you are eatin’ your sandwich with a fork and knife. I knew you were lemony. My cousin Ted likes guys too and he’s single, want his number?” she said with a smile.
“No thanks, I’m taken,” I said in defeat.
I only ate half of the sandwich and went home.
I knew I should have ordered the grilled chicken salad.